messiestobjects

The Very Large Array Is An Array Of Very Large Radio Antennae, Arrayed Over A Very Large Baseline On Top Of A Very Large Plain

This is the Very Large Array, in New Mexico. I had a job in the south of the state last week for five days, so I flew into Albuquerque and proceeded to head straight for the, uh, very large array of 27 independent radio telescope antennae for a visit on my way down. Get ready for many, many shots.

I didn't get there until the evening, after the visitor center was closed, but I headed over anyway to try and get some night shots. It was windy, cloudy, and cold.

So I did my best, but even with a tripod it is difficult to get clear shots in such weather at night. Black & white helps; makes things look intentionally arty, or summ'at.

HDR could even only do so much for me. But it works. However, my prize for the night came about completely accidentally. I was trying to take some long exposures, hoping to get a few stars in through the clouds (didn't wind up getting any), and I was testing different settings for them to see if I could get it to work (I couldn't). But after I'd got back to my dingy hotel room in the tiny New Mexican town of Magdalena and went through my photos, I saw that with one 30 second exposure I'd caught a meteor shower!

I certainly did not actually see the shower while taking the picture, but the exposure revealed it. I'm not sure how that works but, there you go. My regret of course is that it's such a dark, noisy picture. Had I left it exposed just a bit longer, or used a better ISO... anyway. I tried messing with it to make it look better, and this is the best I could do.

Still noisy, and I honestly can't decide which of the two is any good. But still, meteor shower points! What's weird though is that the expected meteor shower from the tail of Halley's Comet hit Earth and peaked on May 6th, whereas I took this photo on the evening of May 10th, so I'm not sure what it is we're looking at, unless it's just a random shower that nobody predicted, and nobody knew about, because I can't find any mention of news for a May 10th shower. Maybe it's just some Halley leftovers.

At any rate I got up early the next morning and headed the 20 miles back to the VLA. There are 27 (according to Wikipedia) or 29 (according to my admittedly faulty memory) independent radio dishes arrayed about the vast Plains of San Agustin, over a distance of three 13 mile tracks set in a single large Y-shape. The dishes are frequently moved from close together to spread completely out, depending on the configuration they need. Last week, they seemed to be spread completely out, making it difficult to get shots with multiple dishes in them.

But with a telephoto lens and a little determination, I did my best. How do they move them you ask? Why, by specially designed train cars of course. There's this whole process which they explain in a video at the visitor's center, and it's pretty fascinating but if I revealed everything, why would you ever want to visit the VLA yourself?

There are two of those dish transport vehicles, and they always seemed to be moving about on some mission or another. But I like this shot because it gives you some perspective on how large the dishes actually are. Just imagine a little guy standing in the man-lift there and you'll see what I mean. Plus, it's nice to have some color in one of these shots. The Plains of San Agustin (as in the winds are a'gustin'?) are beautiful, but fairly large and colorless. At least during the day, anyway.

So okay having said that, here are the obligatory HDR shots.

And I tried to get all clever with the next one. There's a balcony on one of the buildings that they don't let you go in. The stairs are on the outside, so they do let you walk up to get a slightly higher view, and there is a large window which acts as a one way mirror so that you can't see in. But it allowed me to experiment further with HDR.

As Julie noticed, in our mirror Universe, people smoke. In our mirror near-twin Universe, they do not. Also, the dummies who smoke are so primitive that they need handles to open doors. And I just like this next one. The fluorescent lights behind the mirror make it look like the dish is shooting death rays.

Well that's all I got on that morning's trip; I had to head down to Las Cruces for work. There's only so much free time on my work trips, after all. Sigh. But don't worry, I had to fly home from Albuquerque (which brought me past the VLA again!), and the area around Las Cruces held a few surprises as well, so there are more pictures to come. But this post is long enough and I got other stuff to do. I'll post some more junk later. Meanwhile, check out 'ol Radiohead, here.

In Like A Rocker, Out Like A Lamb

February was a slow month. This time of year usually is. The only trip of note I went on was to Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. Just off the highway between Fort Leonard and St. Louis in Fanning, MO on route 66, is the world's Largest rocker. Wheee-hoooo.

I didn't go into the taxidermy studio. If I'd had that kind of time, I would have gone back to the St. Louis Gateway Arch again. Oh well, next time.

However I have some exciting photo geek news. I've discovered how to merge shots of different exposures. I've known it was possible for a while, so very occasionally in the past I'd take Auto Exposure Bracketed shots (AEB) in the hopes I could figure out how to merge them one day. I never really did until recently, and sad to say I never did have the forethought to take very many AEB shots. No idea what I'm talking about? Let me explain. These next three shots of a scene in Death Valley National Park were taken as AEB; three shots of the same frame at different exposures:

And with the correct software, they are merged together to look like this!

It takes the best light from each object in the photo and puts 'em together for what is called a High Dynamic Range (HDR) image. This is an especially useful tool for instances where the light on the subject that you're photographing is just too disparate. As you see in the first three photos, when I exposed for the detail of the basalt rock, the sky and background get washed out, but when I tried to expose for the background, the basalt gets blacked out. One such common occurrence in photography are indoor shots with windows during the daytime. If you want to see what's outside as well as what's inside, HDR rules. My Den:

You'll notice that the HDR images don't look quite as sharp as a regular photo; they almost look painterly. That's just a detailing option you can use in the software. It can render the image more normal looking as well, it's just a preference. Here's my HDR Den, more normal:

I like the painterly look. It makes my less interesting photos look more interesting. Someday I hope to take an AEB photo that is interesting in and of itself. I'm excited about the software, so hopefully it will happen. In the meantime, here's another AEB shot I took way back on a Sacramento California trip.

"Astronomy Compels The [Mind] To Look Upwards And Leads Us From This World To Another"

Guess where I went again? And this time I brought my tripod. One aspect of my job that I very much appreciate (one aspect among many) is how I am able to return to the same place more than once. With some assignments it's not the greatest, but getting to return to Napa Valley, Death Valley or Kitt Peak on multiple occasions way more than makes up for multiple Nowhere, Indiana or the occasional Harrisburg, PA types of assignments. I like going some places many times because each time I go, I notice something different or have a new experience, and I get to know that place a bit better. Also, when I am somewhat familiar with where I'm going, I can make more adequate preparations.

Several things about my second visit to Kitt Peak totally ruled. As I said, a) this time I was prepared and brought my tripod, b) it was a much clearer night than on my previous visit, with no clouds or moon out, which makes the stars extremely bright and multitudinous and c) it was less windy and a bit warmer (though still quite desert-at-night chilly) and so they opened up a different telescope for us to use this time. So all around it was a totally different experience than before. The telescope we used this time was more or less the same as the other one (pictured above), except this one was housed a bit further up the hill in a flattop observatory rather than a domed one. The flattop style would have been quite dreadful on a windier night, open to the elements as it is, you see.

That flat part to the left, hanging over the red light, is the roof; it's been rolled back from the cylindrical observatory on the right. We got to see some really awesome stuff this time around. The middle star in Orion's sword stands out in my memory mainly because while it looks like a single star to the naked eye, it's actually four newborn stars surrounded by clouds of gas and dust cast off from their birth. It was quite lovely. You can see Orion in the next picture. That really bright star just above the roof-line of the Observatory is Sirius, the brightest star in the sky and only 8 light years away, and Orion is just above it, the next brightest stars in the picture being his sword. It looks like I also caught a faint shooting star, between Sirius and the telescope. Or maybe that's an airplane, who knows. I bet Astronomers really hate airplanes.

Oop, there's another one. It's a meteorite, it's an airplane, no! It's a...! Well, no it's got to be one of those two things. You decide.

I also got to see something that is apparently very difficult to see in most places due to light pollution. Kitt Peak is far away and high enough from any major city that the night sky just pops, more so than I've ever seen but less so than people could see from anywhere only 100 years ago. I know that last picture rather looks light polluted from the ground, but that's mostly just a quirk of shutter exposure. At any rate, what we were able to see was the Zodiacal Plane. It's the plane in which all of the planets orbit the sun, and the reason it's see-able is that the millions of leftover particles and gases that are trapped in the same orbit from which all of the planets emerged reflect a faint light. The really bright star just above the robot-looking weather sensor thingy is actually Jupiter, and you can see how the sky is brighter just around it.

I also got to see the double star Almach, The Eskimo Nebula, the star cluster M44 with hundreds of tiny blue stars, the cigar galaxy M82, and our docent even showed us how to find the Andromeda Galaxy with the naked eye. And of course, the only other thing which my camera is actually capable of taking a picture of, the Milky Way.

Although I did get this picture of Jupiter early on just around sunset. I was just playing with settings on my camera when I took it, and it's totally dull and would never make the cut in a million years except I just happened to shake my camera in just the right way to give the planet its self-referential initial.

Hee hee. Anyway, one thing I didn't mention in my first Kitt Peak post was that at the end of the evening, around 10pm, they have to lead us in a caravan down the mountain because you're not allowed to turn your headlights on as they would interfere with the Astronomers doing real work at the observatory. Parking and taillights are fine because they are not luminous enough to have an effect on the telescopes. So as they were gathering us up to go this time, I realized that I'd forgotten my tripod bag back in the flattop observatory. So while everybody else drove down the mountain, I got to wait behind for the docent to come back so he could let me in to get my bag. While I was waiting, I got a nice shot of the parking lot and everyone's taillights as they queued up and drove off. Now I'm not saying that I forgot my bag on purpose, I'm just saying that it worked out rather well for me.

So another awesome night at Kitt Peak all around. I really hope I get to go at least one more time because aside from all of the astronomical learning, I figured out a thing or two about taking night sky pictures which I didn't know before and I'd like the chance to try them out further. At any rate I'll leave you with my final picture of the night; when I got all the way down to the bottom of Kitt Peak I stopped to take a final shot which I thought was poetic, and sad.

"O Krampus! My Krampus! Our Fearful Trip Is Done...

...The whip has weathered every whack, the prize we sought is won;
The beer is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady march, the Krampus grim and daring"

-A Krampusization of the first verse of 'O Captain! My Captain!' by Walt Whitman

And so we come to it at last, Krampus fest 2010! For anyone who has been wondering just what the hell Krampus is, and why I've been making such a fuss over it for the last several posts, hopefully this one will explain our love for it. The last time I was at Krampus was in aught 6, so it was really great to hit it again at long last. Here's a distant glimpse of a pack of demons led through the lower part of town by St. Nick as they make their early house calls.

Krampus fest is awesome. In a nutshell, on every 5th of December many small mountain villages from the area around Berchtesgaden send a Krampus delegation consisting of a band of demons led by the village's St. Nick stand-in. St. Nick will usually have a couple of little girls dressed as angels following close to his side, ringing small chimes to warn of their approach. The demons come in a few different types. Some wear simple furs with a furry dog-face looking mask, and carry whips. Some wear furs with a more elaborate wooden hand-carved demon face mask, sometimes with cowbells strapped to their backs, and carry whips. And others are covered in straw, usually with the wooden masks, always with the cowbells strapped on their backs, and carry whips.

The delegations converge upon Berchtesgaden for the official Krampus opening ceremony. It was really crowded during the daytime this year, so we were unable to get close to the square where they had it, but I've seen it before so I can describe the gist of it. Basically what happens is that St. Nicholas, in an effort to make the human race behave more admirably than is it's wont, meets up with an old friend of his, a shady character named Knecht Ruprecht. St. Nicholas asks to borrow the demons that are under Knecht's control for two days and nights, that he might lead them into battle for the souls of children. The German Bundeswehr, a military outfit, supervises the handing-over ceremony. If negotiations go smoothly they promptly escort Knecht and themselves out of town, essentially handing control of Berchtesgaden over to the demons of St. Nick for the duration.

This is where it gets scary. So in order to wage war against the sins of mankind, St. Nicholas orders the demons to begin their rampage. Krampus demons, being demonic, are able to sense the sinful. Sniffing out their own kind, as such. They know if you've been naughty, and when they find you, they use the combined psychological warfare tactics of being damned scary looking, their towering Bavarian farmer-like sizes, and the maddening sound of the cowbells of hell in order to make you flee in terror. And when you flee, that's when they chase you, and use the whips.

You see they're no Disney whips, this is a serious business. They whap! you pretty hard with those things on the back of the knees or thighs, and it stings. The purpose of the whipping is to beat the sins out of you. St. Nicholas, being the kind saint that he is, wants to be able to give the little German children presents on Christmas morning and the only way to insure that he doesn't have to leave anyone out is by punishing them for the past year's sins first. It's quite an elegant system, if you think about it. No coal in the stockings, or wooden shoes or however they do it there. No child left behind. Whap!

It starts off fairly tamely in the late afternoon. The crowds of onlookers are thick, and the demon packs roam about town in fairly orderly fashion, whacking the occasional bystander who sticks out from the crowd a bit too much. The Krampus fest coincides with Berchtesgaden's Christkindlemarkt, so there are plenty of places to stop and grab a gluwein or a beer and some wurst or spätzle while shadowing a particularly fun bunch of demons. There's even a bit of time to... do... some... window... shopping?

Erm... I love it. I'm not sure if little armless goat/tree boy here has anything to do with Krampus, but for him to just sort of appear in a wood carver's window amongst other more standard shop fare is fairly indicative of how awesome Berchtesgaden is. Is he supposed to be vomiting twigs? Anyway. As the night carries on, things get a bit rowdier. The demons get drunker and start hitting harder, the crowds get thinner, and those who stay get numb from both the cold and the whippings. And drunker.

Gluhwein comes in those nice little mugs. The above scene is a demon showing a rare bit of selective craftiness. He'd reached over John there to grab the mug of gluhwein from the young lady in order to lure her away from the table, where he proceeded to whip the tar out of her. I sort of can't believe she fell for it, but she was pretty young, after all. Very young, John. [Ahem.] Shows you they do in fact know who needs a good whipping.

You may have noticed that the hands and arms of the demons are covered in a greasy soot. They tend to rub their hands over the faces of their victims, leaving a sooty hand-print. I'm not sure exactly why; logically I would guess they do this so as to leave a message for the other demons that this one has been taken care of, move along, but I haven't noticed that the demons leave previously-marked victims alone any more than anyone else. Indeed, sometimes it seems as though the mark is given to single out those who need more attention than usual, and may end the night having been beaten several times.

Young women in particular do seem to get singled out more often. But if I explore this thought it leads into uncomfortable examinations of German sexuality and the whole town seems to view this behavior as a healthy and normal outlet for the youth once a year so I suppose we'll leave it at that as no harm, no foul. Or rather; not too much harm other than a slight stinging and a few morning after bruises, no foul.

Creeeeepy. But then, this isn't supposed to be charming. It is an ancient tradition and despite the rather gleefully dark connotations of the whole thing, is actually religious in nature. As such, there are certain aspects of Krampus that should be taken seriously which, I am ashamed to admit, in my younger and more vulnerable years I did not realize. Pretty much anything goes at Krampus but the main thing is that during the festivities, the demons are in charge. It is not appreciated when some wise-ass American stands up to them. I know that sounds crazy; I mean look at these guys, who would have the nerve to stand up to them anyway?!

Well it happens. Some stupid drunk American thinks he's braver than most people and flits about, trying to steal a whip, or simply standing in the middle of the road forcing a confrontation just to display how unafraid of getting a whap! behind the knees he is. Sometimes the demon ignores him, but often, especially the later it gets, said dumb-ass American finds himself on his back on the cobblestones after having been the victim of a running tackle and shoved 15 feet through the air across the road. And then group-whipped repeatedly. Usually the victim is too stupid to realize this is a severe reprimand of his behaviour and instead mistakes it for "all in good fun". Sheesh.

One of the greatest of the worst-kept secrets of Krampus fest in Berchtesgaden is the Goldener Bär, (The Golden Bear) a solidly good German restaurant with an Italian restaurant upstairs. If you sneak through the Goldener Bär, then sneak upstairs, there is a balcony which overlooks a hidden courtyard behind the building. And in this courtyard is a sort of staging/pow wow/rest area for the Krampus demons. It is a very long, exhausting two days for these guys, dressing in heavy costumes and running around all day whipping people and ringing bells. They need the occasional break to rest up, drink some beer, howl like demons, and party it up on their own. And of course a place for me to get some good shots. Here St. Nicholas is basking in the worship of his demons.

And then, just to prove he's no prude, St. Nick instructs them to let the howl-down begin!

Austria has this brand of chocolates named after Mozart. They are dainty little bon-bons, and cardboard cutouts of Mozart displaying a box of them are ubiquitous in the Alps. Apparently, Krampus demons thought Mozart needed a good whipping this year. Off with his head!

And this seems a little dangerous to me but hay, if a demon needs his nicotine, I for one am not standing in his way. (misspelling intended, haw haw!) A flaming straw demon would have been pretty scary anyway, and I was ready, if disappointed, with my camera.

The balcony overlooking the courtyard is really a great spot. Next time we go I will try and borrow someone's video camera so I can catch all the action. The cowbells from hell, the chanting, the howling, the demonic singing. I love it! One of the demons needed to use the demon loo and came up and was trying to get by us. I think he scared Nimmer a little.

But at the end of the night, even demons need to tone it down and kick back a bit. Even from the demon pow wow, a rest in a normal pub with some human friends is occasionally needed.

As for myself, one of my favorite places to rest my whipped buns and weary feet with a beer is upstairs, at that Italian restaurant I was telling you about. They serve good European style pizza and of course wonderful German beer, but most importantly it's very warm and not usually too crowded. So Gerald, Julie and I took a break up there for some quiet replenishment when some of our friends came in for a quiet rest of their own!

The above photo was taken with Julie's camera by a demon, and believe it or not it was their idea! I don't think any of us had the courage to ask for a photo but it turns out this was a really friendly pair. They just came over and plopped down next to us and began a half-hour or so of friendly chat. Of course, they didn't speak much English and my German is minimal, but it was educational nonetheless. Julie took this one.

The demons were obviously friends. The one you've seen here is a giant Bavarian man, and would be extremely intimidating even without the getup. His friend was a much smaller man, and they made an amusing pair. Julie got this fantastic photo as well.

The smaller demon allowed Julie to try on his mask. I can't believe she asked him if she could; I was still terrified of them. Perhaps I have too many preconceptions about Krampus Nacht to be able to separate the guys wearing the masks from the traditions they represent.

When I tell people about Krampus, I get very mixed reactions. Some people think it sounds like the coolest thing ever but more often, people just think it sounds stupid. "Why would you want to let a bunch of scary men in costumes whip you?! You're weird and a little gay, dude." That always surprises me. It's an experience like none you'd ever be allowed to have in the States. I mean, people like the idea of running with the bulls, or going to that crazy tomato festival. This is along the same lines as those but much more fun in a way more primal.

Notice I got greased on the top of my head. I think they like to take advantage of such a landing deck when they can. Anyway, I hope I've managed to get across why Krampus is awesome and not stupid and a little gay to anyone reading this who might be new to the whole thing.

So that was Krampus 2010. It was awesome, and really great to see my friend Nimmer again and meet his girlfriend and his friend John, and it was great to have Gerald along as well; he was one of the few who thought it sounded awesome the first time he heard about it so it's nice to see it get appreciated. It wound up being a really fun group of people. I was bummed that other Krampus companions of years past were unable to make it, but maybe next time. However the best thing about Krampus this year was being able to share it with Julie, who has had to listen to me yammer on about it and Germany for the last 4 years and finally got to see for herself. She had a really great time and now when I yammer on about it, she can join in. She and I stayed in Berchtesgaden for two more days after Krampus in order to recuperate from three weeks on the road and a nasty bug. I'd never done that before but A) Berchtesgaden is a near ghost town after the fest and B) the perfect place to decompress at the end of a Honeymoon. The hotel Bavaria had a Turkish bath and sauna in their private spa room, and we took full advantage. And two more delicious German dinners at the Goldener Bär are nothing to pass up. Well, until next time, may visions of gluhwein and whip-bearing demons dance in our heads.

So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Good Night, I Hate To Go And Leave This Pretty Sight

And now... we have arrived. I want to sing poetry for Munich, that's how gay for it I am. My favorite city in the whole wide world. We got off the train from Nürnberg and I was able to begin extolling about the pure awesomeness of the city to Julie right there in the best train station in the world (The München Hauptbahnhof). They serve a slow-roasted half-chicken there, fondly referred to by the old AFRC-E gang (Armed Forces Recreation Centers-Europe. Sorry, I'll try not to parenthesize too often) as cheap chicken. Because it's the most delicious thing you've ever eaten and it only cost like 5 bucks. As we'd planned all year, we met a friend from Chiemsee for some cheap chicken there. Well and for Krampus, but cheap chicken first. Jeff Nimmer brought along his girlfriend Beth and his friend John, and we began our traditional meeting day. Cheap chicken at the bahnhof, then a walk down to the Marienplatz.

The last two pictures are of the New Town Hall, because it's only just over 100 years old. It faces the Marienplatz, which is what they call the main square of Munich, but it seems like every town and city in Bavaria has a Marienplatz also. But the one in Munich is definitely special. I love that building. From there we hit a few other of our favorite spots; Dahlmyer's, the tomb of Bavaria's unknown soldier, the Viktualienmarkt. Stop for a Gluhwein here and there. We skipped the traditional bacon cheeseburger at the Irish Pub as this time around as we were all coming from the States and no one was craving one. This year it's delicious, comforting German food all the way. Then it was back to the Hostel for a nap before the evening festivities.

Munich is the best city in which to begin any European travel in order to beat jet or train lag right off the bat. Arrive, stay awake as long as you can before napping for no more than two hours, at which time it's easy to make yourself get moving again because you do not want to miss an evening out at one of Munich's many awesome beer halls, (if you've only got time for one beer hall, it of course has to be the Hofbrauhaus) and a liter of beer (called a mass , pronounced moss) or three. I've heard Americans say that they don't like the Hofbrauhaus because it's too touristy, that they'd rather hit the Augustiner Haus or the Paulaner Haus, but I say that just goes to show you how little they understand Munich. You'll hear many different opinions of course, but from years and years of careful research I believe that I understand something about Bavarians; The social life of a Bavarian is all about Beer, good food, Beer, good cheer, Beer, and a big crowd of people to drink beer, eat good food, and sing good cheers with. They're like Hobbits that way. The Hofbrauhaus is full of tourists, but it is also full of Bavarian regulars who enjoy their tourists and are happy when guests come to visit. Not all Bavarians like tourists of course, but would you rather sit in a beer hall where the locals are ignoring you, or would you rather get drunk with a cheerful Bavarian? It's all personal preference, I suppose.

One of the great things about Bavarian beer halls is that tables are not private. If there's an empty space on the bench, expect for it to be filled by almost anyone. A drunken lederhosen-garbed Bavarian, a group of drunk Australian girls, a group of drunk Spanish guys, a North Carolinan matron and her daughter just off the plane, or a Bavarian gangster rapper. And you can also expect to be super best drunken friends with all of them before they leave the table. At any rate, by the time you leave, you will have no problem staggering back to your hostel and getting a good night's sleep, to awaken refreshed and on German time! You probably won't even be all that hung over either thanks to the Bavarian beer purity laws of 1516. Julie took this picture on our "walk" home from the Hofbrauhaus.

So that morning, we met another friend at the München Hauptbahnhof. I'm always trying to convince people about the awesomeness of Germany and how much fun Krampus is, and it's the rare individual who both believes me and takes me up on the invitation. Gerald had just flown in and he'd missed the traditional Munich meeting day, but was just in time to catch a regional bahn with us down to the town of Bernau, which is on lake Chiemsee where Nimmer and I onced lived and worked. Here's a shot which will likely only mean something to any Chiemseers who happen to be reading.

We froze our asses off on the ferry ride out to the Fraueninsel, a small island on the lake which has a convent founded in 782 and the tiniest, cutest little town you ever did see. Here's a stock postcard I'd pulled off the internet a while back; I never did get any aerial shots of my own.

We ate many sausage sandwiches and drank much gluhwein there at the tiniest, cutest little christkindlemarkt there that you ever did see. That tiny little island was packed though; I was afraid the weight of the crowd would sink it. We went back to the mainland and met an old Bavarian friend, Florian, at the bar he owns (the above pictured Bernauer Stub'n) for a few drinks, and then back to our rooms at Frau Hermann's place.

Our view from the rear balcony in our room at Frau Hermann's the next morning.

It's always bittersweet to tour the old stomping grounds. I love it there so much and I love to revisit, but it never lasts long enough and far too soon it's time to leave again. That morning we hopped on the train down to Berchtesgaden, where the Krampus festivites were to begin that afternoon. I love riding on trains through Bavaria... it's the most magical place on Earth. This is what the train ride usually looks like.

Passing by countless picturesque Bavarian towns which make you wish you'd been born and raised in such simple beauty. (If you're gay for Munich, then you're gay for Bavaria. That's just how it goes, I'm afraid.)

Berchtesgaden is the most amazing place though. A mountain village, nestled deep in the Bavarian Alps. You've already seen my shot of the Watzmann, but have you seen Berchtesgaden building art? It's magnificent. Did you know there were Bavarians at the crucifixion? I bet you didn't. We call him Helmut. Paying our respects to him is one of the first things we do upon arrival in Berchtesgaden. Say hello to Helmut. Hallo!

Here's the Hotel we stayed at. It's called The Hotel Bavaria, and is under new management since the last time we came. It is now run by a super awesome Bavarian couple, Wolfgang and Pietra, and their son Andre.

They didn't know that we'd been in town many many times before, and upon our arrival they warned us with very concerned looks on their faces to be careful if we went up the hill into town because there was this crazy local festival going on and it gets a bit rowdy. We grinned merrily amongst ourselves. Once we assured them that we knew all about Krampus, they let us in on a secret; a group of very special Krampus demons would be hitting the courtyard at the Hotel Bavaria early in the evening. A group of one of the oldest Krampus packs in the area were apparently hiking all the way down from some tiny mountaintop hamlet and making their first stop there, so we were welcome to join them in the courtyard for gluhwein mit schuss and cakes! So as my final Krampus teaser before the actual Krampus post, here are three shots of the beginning of the festivities. Here a Krampus demon asks a terrified littled boy if he's been good this year, as St. Nick and a little angel look on approvingly.

Krampus demons are especially fond of terrorizing young ladies. They were sort of passing this girl around like a football as she was screaming bloody Deutsche murder, but later when I looked at the pictures I had snapped she appears to be, um, enjoying the attention. Ah, Krampus.

And finally, the leader of the pack howls to the air, calling his demons to battle. The battle for the souls of wicked little children and young girls, and any man, woman, child or animal who stands in the way. Let the bell ringing and the whippings begin!

And to help with the anticipation, perhaps a teaser video of a Krampus demon bell-ringing pow wow behind the Goldener Bär restaurant.

Glückliches Neues Jahr! Wilkommen Auf Deutschland!

After Paris, I finally returned to the Fatherland. There is something special about crossing the border into Germany; I feel finally at home. Nürnberg is a nice easy train ride from Paris. We'd arrived at night, in the middle of a big snowstorm. There had been a couple of delays, but I was so happy to be traveling on Deutsche Bahn again that I didn't mind at all. This is a nice blurry shot of us about 5 minutes after being outside that night. I was using my small pocket camera and didn't realize the date stamp was turned on. Grr.

Nürnberg is the home of the largest, cutest damned Christmas Market (Christkindlmarkt) of all time. In Germany they are ubiquitous this time of year, and this was Nürnberg's 175th annual market. 175th. I've been to Nürnberg several times, and have yet to get a decent picture of the market. I'm not sure exactly why that is, except that I may be too busy enjoying it to bother trying too hard with my camera. They sell all kinds of delicious holiday treats like Lebkuchen, Wurst, and gluhwein along with various other staples such as Christmas ornaments, hats, gloves, candy, liquor, and good, solid, practical German cheer.

Nürnberg is also home to the Albrecht Dürer Haus. He was a very famous 16th century artist. This is the Albrecht Dürer square.

See the rabbit? That's one of his sculptures. Let's take a closer look.

Are those human toes? And demon baby rabbits? Dürer was kind of a nutjob. But then again so are all those mid-millenium religious artists. It doesn't seem like something that came out of the 16th century, does it? More like that H.R. Giger guy who designed the Alien.

Anyway, Nürnberg is a small town. To be savored more than photographed, apparently. Julie had her birthday there, where I totally scored points for best birthday party location ever. We there began our week of eating delicious German food with spätzle, nürnbergerwurst mit sauerkraut, and good thick beer with twice the alcohol content of American and including Bavarian State-mandated pure beer ingredients. And we took a break from the snow and cold to see the latest installment of the Harry Potter franchise at an original language version cinema there. Good good times.

So that's that. It was awesome. I'm getting all excited just reliving my time in Germany, so imagine how happy we were to actually be there. I will retire there one day, I swear. Here's the next Krampus teaser pic. The mountain is called the Watzmann, as viewed from our hotel balcony in Berchtesgaden. At the bottom of the shot you can see some Krampus demons jogging through the streets of town on their way toward the evening festivities.

They're a bit hard to see. If you click on the picture you can view it in a larger format (that's true of all the pictures I post, by the by) or, I'll post a bonus-bonus Krampus teaser shot of a closer-up. The bells, the bells!!

"All I Wanted Was To Connect My Moods With Those Of Paris. Beauty Paints And When It Painted Most, I Shot." -Ernst Haas

Despite popular belief, Parisians are not, in fact, all assholes. Every Parisian we interacted with was lovely. It wasn't my first time there either; it was my third visit to Paris and I've found that to be true each time. I think that the reason that so many Americans seem to think Parisians are jerks is because Parisians are actually quite friendly and accommodating, and as a result they lose patience really fast with people who do not return the same courtesies. Americans are typically known in Europe as rude and oblivious travelers, though in fairness I don't think we mean to be. But, and obviously I'm stereotyping us here, our habit of not trying to understand the customs or the languages of the places we travel to is fairly considered to be pretty asinine. There are cultural and geographical reasons for our seemingly built-in xenophobia and obtuseness, however when leaving your home and entering another's, it's not unreasonable for the host to expect a little understanding that things are done differently there and that while it may be their duty to make us feel welcome, it's our duty to try and fit in.

So that's our lecture for today kids. God I'm getting preachy in my old age. Aw who'm I kidding, I've always been preachy. ANYway, obviously after hitting Barcelona Julie and I night trained it up to Paris. As I said I'd visited a few times before, but Julie hadn't and as it is quite a lovely honeymoon destination, we hit that. We were there for three days. What can I say about Paris though? It's a beautiful city, with a crap ton of cool stuff to do. You might find it odd that after having said that, I pretty much only have pictures of the Sacre Coeur church to post.

There's a good reason for that. Paris was bloody cold. Actually from here on out, the rest of our trip was bloody bloody bloody bloody cold. It wasn't often that I had the gumption to pull my camera out of the bag. But the Sacre Coeur has a special signifigance for Julie and me. She's had a painting by Maurice Utrillo of a street scene on her wall in her bedroom for many years; It had belonged to her Nana and she'd always loved it. She would stare at it and wish she could enter the painting and go there, but she never knew what or where it was. Not until I once had occasion to see the painting myself whereupon I said to her "Hey, that looks like the Sacre Coeur in Montmartre, Paris. I've been in that exact spot. Cool picture."

It's possibly a little more commercial in that spot nowadays than it was in Utrillo's day. But still a cool looking scene. So of course this was one of our most important must-do's on our honeymoon. Julie said it was quite surreal to stand in this spot after all those years of staring at it and wishing she could go there, but perhaps she will wish to comment more on that herself. At any rate, of course we went back there at night when shops were closed and no one else was out, mostly because it was snowing and was bloody bloody bloody bloody cold. But very attractive.

We did do other stuff in Paris of course. But posting photos of paintings in the Louvre is rather dull. There were still a crap ton of people in the Mona Lisa room. Probably the same ones who were there last time I was there. However we did pass by proof that all of the paintings there are fake stand-ins. They train 'em right there, during normal business hours!

We also passed a window which had a really nice view of Montmartre, so I pulled out the 'ol telephoto lens.

And a bit more tele, please.

Another very, very important aspect of Paris was the food. You can not go wrong in Montmartre. We hadn't had the greatest food luck in Lisbon or Spain; the Tapas were kind of nasty. I think we just picked bad places somehow though. But everything we ate in Paris was awesome. That stereotype is absolutely true. Julie sated a yen for Foie Gras and I sated a yen for Creme Brulee, along with many other italicized satiations and some great wine. The only bad experience was at this one trendy fondue place. The fondue was delicious, but the restaurant itself was a bit unpleasant. It was tightly packed with squealing young foreigners, Julie was forced to stand on the table to get over to her seat where she became quite literally booby-trapped for the evening, and in a final indignity they served their passable house wine in baby bottles which is exactly where I drew the line. I immediately took the lid off as I have a snobby attitude toward wine which tastes of rubber nipple.

Julie apparently does not. She's much more fun than I am.

I'm not really sure what exactly the gimmick was supposed to be. So then Parisians may not all be assholes, their food may be all kinds of awesome, but they are also kind of weird sometimes. Anyway, we also hit Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower, of course. And the catacombs. Gotta hit the catacombs. Because miles of human bones deep underground are cool.

Two-headed ogres live down there.

And that's pretty much our Paris trip. I left stuff out, such as the five story spiral staircase we had to climb three to four times a day, and the unforced evacuation of the Louvre which we did not participate in, or the Christmas concert in Notre Dame, but really those are just details which are better kept between ourselves.

One post closer to Krampus! Sorry it's taking so long to get there. Busy time of year and all that. Here's the next teaser pic.

More Travel Chanties: Oh Sevilla, Barcelona, Alhaaaaambra, España! You Were Fun But Now It's Over, Dreadful Sorry, Clementine.

We took a night train from Lisbon to Madrid. I've been on night trains in Europe before, and once from Cairo to Aswan, Egypt, and they are awesome. You get a bunk bed room with a sink. You hang out, drink some wine or whatever, pass out. Then you wake up at your destination well rested and ready to sightsee. For some reason, the Lisbon to Madrid night train wasn't so restful. I mean, we did everything right; we had a private room and a bottle of genuine Porto bottled Port Wine. (Which we learned was invented by the British in the Portugese city of Porto. They didn't like Portugese wine, so they mixed it with Brandy and voila!) Maybe I'm just getting... well certainly not older. I'm the same age I always was. Maybe just out of practice.

At any rate, all we saw in Madrid were train stations as we attempted to find a way down to Seville. They don't make it easy, the damn Spaniards. But we made it, and spent a night. We didn't like the tapas, but the old Cathedral that looks a bit like a mosque in the last two pictures was pretty. We opted not to pay the overpriced entrance fee to check out the interior, however. How's that for hard-hitting travel journalism?

This was a museum which we also didn't go in to, but I dig the lion device over the archway. Hey, we were still a bit jet and train-lagged, and we were just glad we had the energy to wander around town at all at this point, ok? So after Seville, we got an early morning train to Granada.

Again, still exhausted, and Granada was extremely stressful and confusing at first. But after hauling our packs onto many buses and over many hills, we finally found what we were looking for, the Alhambra.

To be honest, I'd never heard of the Alhambra before Julie convinced me that we had to go see it if we were going through Spain. I feel a bit confused by that now; it's like never having heard of the Louvre, or the Roman Colliseum. How does that one go under one's radar? Washington Irving lived at the Alhambra for a time and wrote a book of tales about it. And I'll be embarassingly honest once more; at first I was a bit cranky, and did not enjoy walking around it. My excuse? Again, train-lagged and we had hiked over a lot of hills already that day, and the place is HUGE.

But you can't stay cranky for long with these kinds of sights. On the one hand, the place is awe-inspiring. An aggregate of palaces and gardens, constructed by various conquerors of contrasting empires over a period of centuries. On the other hand, my inner proletariat was outraged once again by the excesses of the wealthy at the expense of the subhuman working class.

But at some point you just have to let the rage go and enjoy the views.

Or not, you know. Bitterness is a good frame of reference for the traveler. And either way, it IS beautiful. It's not like I want to visit the shanty towns of South Africa as a sightseer, or even the poorer districts of Granada. Bloody rich people.

If I seem conflicted, it's because I am. You can't walk around this planet without a healthy dose of confliction. I despise the overly wealthy, not because they're wealthy but because they seem to spend their lives and their wealth making sure that the mass of humanity gets screwed, but of course when you travel as an American, one realizes that I am overly wealthy compared to much of the world. Which is kind of sad and makes me even madder. And then I try to put it all out of my mind and just enjoy the trip.

So you know, Travel for the self-loathing! I oughtta work for Carnival or Disney. At any rate, the Alhambra was really wonderful to see. But the best part of the day was dinner. After hiking back down into the main district of Granada, I found a Doner Kebap place! Doner Kebaps are the Turkish version of Gyros and are way awesomer. They are all over Europe, but I have yet to see one in the States which is crazy. You could make a small fortune if you opened a Doner stand. One last view of the Alhambra, and then it's off to Barcelona.

We spent a few days in Barthelona. That's how they pronounce it. It's a really neat city, with loads of the usual city life kinds of things. Nightlife, sidewalk cafes, museums, etc. Our first night there though, we hit the Gaudi stuff.

Gaudi was a religious nut, and judging by his architecture at least partially insane. But you know, that's a good combo for art. They started building the Sagrada Familia cathedral in 1882, and it is still under construction, to be completed in 2026. That's freaking crazy right? But it really is an amazing looking building.

And honestly, it also looks a bit demonic. Like a big church made out of flesh. Maybe that's why I like it.

We also checked out his Casa Mila, which is awesome but I feel like it falls a bit short of his vision. I don't understand why all of the windows aren't desgned the same way as that big one on street level. The webby soap-bubbly like pattern of the door frame is awesome, and the other windows are all just, square.

The next day we hit the Picasso museum, once again at Julie's prompting. And I have to say, it did it's job. I'm a convert, I like Picasso's stuff now. I didn't really care about him much before, though I always thought that his attempts to render the idea of actual three dimensional vision rather than two dimensional representation of the third dimension onto canvas was rather awesomely nerdy, if a bit inherently flawed as a concept. But being in a room full of his weirder stuff is definitely one of the few times in my life where I actually felt wonderfully affected by art, because I'm not normally big on paintings and sculptures and such. But, you're not allowed to take pictures of his paintings, dammit.

We spent a lot of time in Barcelona just walking around and enjoying the atmosphere. I have loads of pictures but they're mostly touristy, so I'll leave off with this one.

And that's it for Spain. One post closer to Krampus! Speaking of which, here's the next teaser pic I promised.

Hey Hey, Ho Ho, We've Got To Portu-Go! ...And Other Fun Traveling Chants

Well it's been a great Honeymoon. We're on the final day or so of it, and we're taking some much deserved down time so I thought I'd get started with the posting and the pictures and the blathering. We landed in Lisbon, Portugal what now seems like a really long time ago. One branch of my family comes from there and I'd always been curious to see it. Above is a shot of what I like to imagine was the last sight of Portugal which my Great-Great etc. grandfather/uncle (however that all works) saw as he left for the New World. And below was Julie's and my first view of Lisbon, Rossio Square. We arrived here at about 6 in the morning, looking for our hotel.

As far as first views go, it was pretty weird. But cool weird, not icky weird. The water in the fountain is actually quite pink, which only added to the weirdness.

But so apparently some people who were protesting NATO had dyed the water, well not blood red but I assume that had been the intent, overnight just in time for our arrival. We thought it was supposed to be that way and were kind of wondering why people were giving us funny looks as we took a bunch of photos. We only realized later, when the cranes arrived to aid in the removal of stickers from off of the statues and people with trucks and hoses came to clean out the fountain, that something was up. Hey, we were slow on the uptake because overseas flights really take a lot out of you. That's a NATO sticker over her mouth there. I guess we thought it was supposed to be that way, or whatever.

As it turned out, after much doorbell ringing at buildings that were not in fact hotels but dwellings of sleepy and angry Portugese residents, our hotel had great view of this square, and the big obligatory European castle on the hill. So, cool.

Lisbon is a really neat city and we had a great, if bleary-eyed and jet-lagged time. There is a lot of tile work there. Most of the older buildings were covered in decorative tile, or tiles with scenes.

It was really pretty. There were a lot of stairs and hills involved, and many scenes like this as well.

Especially in the Alfama district, which is a famous area due to it's charming yet exhausting Moroccan-like medina nature. A warren of stairs, hills, junky shops, cool bars, and welcome bakeries with great espresso and port wine.

There was this elevator tower back near the Rossio disctrict that is some sort of national landmark. I mean it's pretty and everything, and we totally went up in it, but I'm not really sure what the point of it is except to charge unsuspecting tourists 5 Euros to get in when there is a perfectly short and easy set of stairs right around the corner that takes you to the exact same spot. That might seem confusing based on the below photo, but there is a bridge that leads from the rear topside of the elevator right over to the hill, which you also can't see from the front here.

Anyway, at least we got a nice sunrise overview of the city.

The obligatory European castle on the hill wasn't much to look at, being obligatory, but also, being obligatory, we hiked on up there. Got a few shots from the heights. This here is a view of the harbor, and a canon, and that's a submarine out there just passing by. Ah, small countries.

And there appears to be a smaller version of Brazil's famous Christ Redeemer statue here, right across the harbor from the obligatory European castle. I didn't bother to try and find anything out about it, let alone try to get to it, but that's why telephoto lenses are great. If you really care, I do know it's called the Cristo-Rei, is probably based on the more famous Brazilian one, (Paris did the same thing; they have a mini Statue of Liberty that I have pictures of somewhere, probably over on my ancient smugmug site) and that there's a wikipedia entry on it. And here's a picture of it.

This here is just one of those photos that, when you see it, you have to try and capture but it never turns out as cool as you'd hoped it would. There were a bunch of kitties hanging around the castle top.

I saw something at the train station that you would never see in the US (as opposed to all of those other things in Europe that you'll never see in the US, like obligatory castles and socialism, apparently) and it makes me sad. But seriously, how awesome is a book vending machine?

On our last night in Lisbon, I decided that we had to hit one of those crazy Fado clubs all the Portugese kids are raving about. Fado is a traditional style of music that involves soulful lamenting, decrepit old guitar players, bluesy-lookin' bass players, and sexy or suave young singers.

Fado apparently literally means 'fate', and they have a bunch of places in the Alfama district where they pile you in for an evening of meals with courses split up by sessions of Fado during which the waiters will shush the hell out of you if you talk or make noise or, seemingly, attempt to eat too loudly. Each session of Fado brings in a different singer, but the band stays the same. It was fairly romantic and scored me some points, which I needed to shore up on for the coming days of relentless night train travel.

So that was Lisbon. I've left out a few details, including a few about Port Wine (Which was invented in Portugal, in the city of Porto) and funny language gaffes, but I don't have photos for those and this is, after all, now pretty much only a photojournal and not a venue for my ranting and longwinded story telling. Ah, evolution.

Currently, Julie and I are still in Germany recovering from a bout of Krampus and sinus infection, but in the most luxurious way possible. More about those obviously interesting topics later. But since I took a crap ton of pictures at Krampus this year, I thought it might be nice to end the posts leading up to it with teaser photos which aren't among the ones I will likely be posting as part of my final analysis. So until next time, here are some of my favorite Krampus mask woodcarver's offerings for this year.

I Went As A Proctor, I Went To The Mountain, I Looked Through The Eyepiece, I Drank From The Coffee Urn

Kitt Peak was. Awesome. I had done Tombstone the previous day in what was originally supposed to be my only free time after a job in Fort Huachuca, but I couldn't get a plane out until Saturday so Kitt Peak was my overstay day two destination of choice.

Cartoon cactus! Kitt Peak National Observatory is about a 2 hour drive West of Tucson. It is the home of 26 telescopes, the largest array of them anywhere in the world. Included among them are one radio telescope dish which is a member of the VLBA (Very Long Baseline Array), the largest solar telescope in the world, and the first telescope used to search for near-Earth asteroids that could possibly strike us one day.

It was a holy pilgimmage. Only better, because the sense of holiness at the top of this mountain felt like something real, something tangible, and not simply mass superstitious willfull delusion. (That needs a better word; is there a word that describes The Emperor Wears No Clothes syndrome? Mass delusion, hysteria, or hypnosis don't really cut it because we need something to connotate the willfullness of it.)

There is always a very real sense of excitement when one visits such places, places where the advancement of the human race has occurred, is still occurring, and will always occur as long as there are those who use their minds rather than their emotions to peer into reality. Or at least engage in the attempt.

It's a feeling of utter joy and freedom, something I never did feel as a member of a certain religion. Perhaps, in light of my previous paragraph, I ought not to use the word 'feeling'. Obviously I don't mean that emotions are evil; though they do lead one into error quite handily, especially during investigations. One should feel one's emotions, take pleasure in them, even use them in any form of expression you might choose, but never be guided by them.

Well enough of traveller's philosophy. Suffice it to say, I prefer a big metal telescope on a mountaintop to a guru any day.

So getting back to the details of my pilgrimmage; having a whole day and night until my departure from the desert around Tucson, I decided to take part in the evening observation program which they offer nightly. It was awesome. First they take you on a brief sunset tour of a few choice spots on the peak.

Then they let us into one of the working telescope domes for a brief lecture and demonstration of stuff. You know, sciencey stuff.

But the absolute high point was of course actual observation. We got to play with one of the telescopes. A dinky one to be sure, as far as Kitt Peak scopes go, but certainly a more powerful one than I've ever had the opportunity to use before.

We got to see moon craters, a binary star system, and Jupiter's cloud bands. it was pretty freaking sweet. In the advanced observing program for amateur astronomers, they let you use their digital telescope cameras to take and keep pictures of stuff that you choose to look at. But that program costs like $500 and is a sleepover so, not in the cards for me on this trip. (Or should I say, not in the STARS for me on this trip? Yuk snort! No, no I guess I shouldn't.) Next time.

I also got to sit around and take cool night photos while other people got a turn at the eyepiece so, win win all around. I took a metric ton of these, but I'll spare you and post only the money shot.

And that's pretty much it. It was quite a hushed evening, meditative even; there's a stillness on an astronomer's mound at night, even among a group of other stargazers, that has to be experienced to be appreciated, hence all of my holy comparisons.

There was an infrared camera inside, and I couldn't resist a parting shot of myself in the monitor. Creepy right?

And now I am currently on my Honeymoon! You know, with that girl I married. It's been a great trip so far, but I just wanted to get these Kitt Peak pix up before the onslaught of European photos begin.

You Tell 'Em I'M Coming, And Hell's Coming With Me, You Hear? HELL'S COMING WITH ME!!!

It's the famous Tombstone coin-op pony! I went to Sierra Vista, Arizona for work this week. There was a mix up with our contract at Fort Huachuca there, and to make a long story short I wound up staying in the area for two days longer than I should have. So, making the best of a bad situation, I visited the towns of Tombstone and Bisbee on overstay day one.

Yet another entry in my surprisingly long-lived fascination with shadow-self self portrait portaits. Well, I suppose this new obsession of mine will die when I stop visiting such insanely sunny places. Insunly, heh huh.

Let me just say here that Tombstone, the actual town, is a bit... well it's a kitsch hole. I'll spare you the shots of the main street, which are full of shops selling genuine cowboy boots, hats, and sweatshirts with a delightful Old West flair. But I really love the Kurt Russell movie, so I'm still ecstatic to check it off my list. These guys put on a little reenactment for visitors at 14:00 every day. I got there just in time. I'm a lucky lucky little boy. I thought it would be a quick little gunfight. I mean, that's what you always hear about the OK Corral gunfight, right? That it happened quick. Well, did I call this a reenactment? More like a Passion Play. 45 damned minutes, sitting in the sun watching local theatre. Well all's well that ends well, anyway.

Bisbee is a really interesting little town. Bit of an artsy liberal haven in the middle of all those Border Patrol checkpoints. One of the students at my Fort Huachuca class recommended it to me. Very nice town to have a nice turkey avocado sandwich for lunch in, but I wouldn't have posted any pictures here except that I was walking up the street and I saw this.

Ah, sculpture! Wait, what is that shirtless bronzed railroad working man... is he..? As he stares at the Church? Nah, this needs closer investigation.

Oh, yup he is. Holding a railroad spike. Just as I suspected.

Anyway, on overstay day two, I hit the world famous Kitt Peak Observatory! But it's late; I'll get those pictures up on another post, some other day. You can't wait, I can tell.

Messiestobjects: Going Places So You Don't Have To- Or, Nothing, Haybales, And Toejam

A shadow-self self-portrait portrait in the Geographical... well you can read the sign. I was in Minot, North Dakota for work again, and I had some extra time so I drove an hour East to Rugby. The drive was monotonous. I can't believe people live out there. It's a vast cornfield of nothing. Nothing and haybales.

Nothing, haybales, and toe-jam. They seem to be proud of that. This is the local diner where I ate lunch (without the side of jam, thank you no) and which has the monument to The Center of it All in their parking lot. The obelisk is abutted by the flags of the U.S., Canada and Mexico. And wagon wheels.

Not much going on in the center of it all, really. And actually, the Geographical center of a continent is rather hard to pinpoint, and there is no official center. Rugby just happens to be within the 16-mile radius of the area where the center may actually reside. It's sort of unofficially accepted to be the center by the U.S. Geological Survey, and that poor diner needed some business. Close enough for government work, literally. Ah-merica.

So yeah, not the most fascinating of places I've been to. It's been a slow month. But I do have a trip to Arizona coming up, and then we're off for a honeymoon in the lands of our ancestors, culminating in a festive Christmas holiday of whips and gluhwein. So you'll be seeing me there.

Is Death Valley An Appropriate Blog Subject For My Final Post As A Bachelor? Or, Odd Timing But I Love You Baby!

 

It's always a struggle, trying to figure out which picture to start off a post with. It's the first one that all three of my regular occasional blog-checkers see, so it's an important choice.

  As you can see, I had yet another job in Ridgecrest, California (My eighth! I totally just looked it up), and yet another drive through Death Valley, and for only the second time I ran into Desert Puppy! 
This time instead of carjacking me, he was just hanging on the side of the road and I noticed him in time to stop and say hey. I pulled onto the shoulder, which turned out to be soft sand, which my car totally got stuck in. Took me like 15 minutes to dig myself out and pile enough rocks under the tires to scooch back onto the road. Desert Puppy just hung out and cocked a quizzical ear at me the whole time. I threw him a date, we're totally bff. 
He didn't seem to mind me getting in real close for some shots so, of course I did. I figure the next time I run into him we'll be cool enough that I can sneak him into my car and bring him home. 

I also had a bonus this trip; I saw a tarantula in the wild! The wild highways of Death Valley! So of course I screeched to a halt and played Goofy traffic cop.

I can't believe that none of the people who passed me wanted to stop and see this shit. It was awesome. Tarantulas in the wild are so much more alive than caged tarantualas, you know what I mean man? Yeah you do.

I'm not about to step on him, I swear. I just wanted to see if he'd go after it. He didn't, but neither did it deter him. Brave little toaster, there.

See? He's fine. He even creeped off into the sunset.

Rhode Trip To Nostalgia!

  I was able to go to Newport, Rhode Island last week for a few days for work. I think it's only been a few posts since the last time that I declared my love for my job. So I'm due.

I really love New England anyway, and it's been the one major hole in my work travel, so I was really excited to get this one. Newport is only about four or five hours from my house, so I drove and brought along Julie and the puppy for some seaside town fun. 

There's not really a whole lot there, sightseeing wise. The great thing about New England is more the smells and the ocean and the culture. And Newport is a very New England town. I don't like seafood, but I do like the way it smells. At least, I like the way it smells when in a seaside town. Weird right? I think it's all that good salty fresh air.

Well I was born and raised in Massachusetts by a descendant of Portugese fishermen, stowaways, and Boston horsetheives, and I worked in an Alaskan fishing town for two salmon seasons so perhaps it's the smell of nostalgia for me. But Julie has a thing for lobster so we were able to satisfy both of our seafood kinks quite well.

Newport is actually a very rich town though, with a ton of mansions. It's kind of crazy. I didn't take pictures because, as beautiful as the architecture of the Rich can be, something inside of me is a bit snobby and offensive when it comes to the idea of photographing anything that musty old American money thinks of as important. I think it's the jealousy. It's a hang-up, I'm aware of it. But there was a big fancy annual boat show in town the weekend we were there, and I managed to get a picture of that, at least.

Ack! Dammit Colorado, Don't Spring Up On Me Like That!

Went to Colorado Springs for work a few weeks back. They have this big mountain there. I hiked like a madman to the top... ok, no really I drove. It's a big mountain.

No guardrails. Steep cliffs. I think driving up was the braver way to go, quite frankly. Check out this completely unnecessary sign.

After the grueling drive, they have a nice photo-op reward for us gas-pedal hiker's achievement. And I got tired of waiting for people to move out of the way of it.

As a consolation for my lack of hard work and mountaintop crowding, I went off and made it look more lonely at the top.

At the bottom of Pike's Peak is a town named Manitou Springs. They have the Cripple Creek dulcimer shop there, and my Dad plays the dulcimer so I got a few shots for him. Apparently it's a famous shop, among those who dulce.

And in Colorado Springs, they have this place called The Garden of the Gods. There's a whole buncha pretty rocks there.

I like how this one kind of looks like some sort of giant bird-man glaring down at those guys like he's contemplating whether to peck at them or not.

A shadow-self self-portrait portrait.

A regular old-fashioned self-portrait.

And it was a fun surprise to stumble across this thing there. I didn't know that's where the famous Balancing Rock is.

Another shadow-self self-portrait portrait. I may have stumbled across my latest photo obsession here.

And there's this place called the Manitou Cliff Dwellings, where some Pueblo Indians by the tribal name of Anasazi used to live. Kind of Flintstone-looking.

But this is what kills me about America. Interesting place, interesting history, would make a really neat photo. Not to mention that it might be made into a nice quiet spot in which to contemplate earlier, more primal ways of living. So what do we do? Charge you $10 to see it (and that little row of cave condos right there? That's all there is to see) and then pave right up to it and park all of your utility vehicles right in front of it, and have a gigantic and unnecessary tourist restaurant and Kokopelli blocking your view! Screw the history, we Americans love us some Kokopelli represent.

The Men Who Stare At Goats... And At Me!

Several months back, Julie and I were watching that movie "The Men Who Stare At Goats" and there's a scene during the opening credits where Ewan McGregor's character, Bob Wilton, is preparing to go to Kuwait in an attempt to be an Iraq war journalist. In one frame, about seven and a half minutes in, he is signing his Kuwaiti visa. I said to Julie,"Hey, I have a visa just like that one!" I had spent a few days in Kuwait before running up to Iraq for work, and I even posted a scan of my visa and the story behind it back in August 2007. But just in case you don't feel like following the link to read that exciting entry, for the purposes of this entry I'll post the scan again. Here it is:

Now as you can see, my name  is only written here in Arabic, as well as the Kuwaiti company who acted as my sponsor for the purposes of this Visa. But my old passport number is clearly written there in Arabic numerals, as well as the residency number.

So this guy, 3azeez, commented on that particular post last week, and then we continued the conversation via email. He speaks Arabic, and had been watching the film, and when he saw the Kuwaiti visa pop up he was confused because the name in Arabic did not match the name of the character played by McGregor, Bob Wilton. In fact, the name on the passport was mine. So he did a search online and eventually came to my blog, where he kindly informed me of what must have happened.

That's right! Some prop guy for the movie must have run across my blog when searching online for a Kuwaiti Visa, and rather than bothering to reproduce it, he just copied mine with minor changes! And to prove it, here's a still from the film!

My passport number, except for the 0 covered by Ewan McGregor's thumb! My residency number! All they did was change the dates in Arabic numerals, and change the top part from where it said 'Residency' to 'Work Visa'. And if you have a keen enough eye you can match up the Arabic writing to see that my name is there and everything. Ha ha! My passport is famous! Right up there onscreen next to the producers... one of whom is George Clooney! It loved acting with Ewan, but it feels bad it didn't get an actual scene with Clooney or Jeff Bridges. Right now we're waiting to hear on a deal with the next Peter Jackson film.

3azeez asked me to cut him in on a percentage if we decided to sue, but I don't think we can and anyway I wouldn't. I just think it's awesome. Especially because it's a pretty cool movie. It could have been much, much worse. There are very few films out there lately that I don't consider pure garbage. Besides, in a movie about psychic spies, perhaps I should take it as a sign from the Universe. Maybe I'm supposed to join the New Earth Army. 

Anyway, my Kuwaiti Visa was actually used twice during the opening credits. I guess the film editors thought it was such a good actor that they wanted to see it again. Here it is, a few seconds later from another angle.

My regret is that they did not contact me to ask about it first. Not for any reason other than that I could have saved them from a few Kuwaiti Visa continuity errors. For instance, they shouldn't have had him sign it. That signature on my Visa isn't mine, it's the Kuwaiti issuing authority's. Also, in the upper left corner of the visa you'll see that blue stamp, where it's half white on the top. Well, that's actually a hologram stamp, and when I scanned it it just came out with a glare like that. So that's another indicator that it's a copy. And also, I'm not entirely positive about this one, but I'm pretty sure that unless Bob Wilton was going to be doing journalism in Kuwait, he wouldn't have needed a work visa. He may have needed a residency visa just like I did since when he would be going to Iraq, he wouldn't technically be leaving Kuwait since it was a closed border at the time. See the entry I linked to up top for more info on how that all worked. But I didn't go over as a journalist so like I said I could be wrong about that one.

If you want to join my passport's fan club, or just be alerted on any upcoming roles, please contact it at [email protected] to join the mailing list. Thank you for all your support and love and it would especially like to thank the Seattle Passport issuing agency without whom it never would have existed, and also messiestobjects.typepad.com for daring to give it a chance. God bless.

My Travel Dustbin From June, part 1; Yosemite & Vancouver

The thing about America's National Parks is that while they tend to have breathtaking scenery, unless you're attacked by a bear or something there's very little to say about your trip.

Sure I could tell you about how I almost ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere due to my insane ocd proclivity not to want to stop at a gas station unless I have less than a quarter tank of gas left (and this happens to me frequently, unsurprisingly), but it's not really story telling material.

The other thing about America's National Parks is that pictures rarely do them justice. Especially if the taker isn't Ansel Adams. But I keep trying anyway. As you can see I really got into practicing my slow shutter shots. Difficult without a tripod.

I was away from home for 12 days in June for work; I had a job in California and then I flew directly to Seattle for a job in Tacoma. I was able to hit Yosemite National Park, Mono Lake, Vancouver British Columbia, and Mount Rainier National Park. These pictures are from Yosemite, obviously. I figure I'll get to the others in another post because I take too dang many photos as it is, and this Yosemite brings out the worst in photographers.

I only had a day in Yosemite really, so I tried to hit the important spots but it seems like there is an infinite supply of amazing vistas I probably missed out on.

I spent the night in Yosemite Valley at a place called Curry Village. They had these sort of semi-permanent tents which you weren't allowed to bring food into because apparently there's a Yogi hiding behind every tree. Yogi Bear I mean, not a hungry Yoga practitioner. They didn't let you leave food in your car either, because bears frequently carjack for food. They had these bear-proof bins outside every tent instead.

So I ate my figs and drank my wine in the dark, uncomfortably perched in the middle of tent row on top of a metal box behind a tree in my Half Lotus pose.

Also, tent walls are thin. I don't think I've ever in my life been closer to wanting to commit infanticide than I was that night in Yosemite Valley.

When I was younger I was more willing to put up with such nonsense. In fact I stayed in a nearly identical tent one night in Kruger Park in South Africa and to me at the time it didn't get better than that. But to be fair I slept really well that night, without a screaming baby accompaniment.

One other thing about Yosemite that I found to be irritating was simply how many cars and people were there. It's probably the busiest of the National Parks I've been to. They've built it to be extremely tourist-friendly, a high volume capacity infrastructure. Fast Nature for the masses. Luckily for me, I guess.

As far as my quick ride up to Vancouver from Seattle goes, the reason I threw it in this post along with Yosemite is because I didn't really get any pictures there. It was rainy, I didn't have a lot of time, and I was uninspired. I find it difficult to take vista shots of cities unless they're either A) extraordinary or B) I'm in the mood. And I didn't really feel like being in a city that day so I didn't have the opportunity to get any good walking around shots. However I did head out to North Vancouver to take a hike at Lynn Canyon. They have a suspension bridge over the canyon. Got a picture. It was a nice hike.

The Scuba Diving Was Great, But I Didn't Get To Try The Water Boarding

So I lied about not using that joke again. Screw it, I needed a title.

Anyway I don't know if you knew this, but I spent ten days at Gitmo for work recently. :) This here is a painting of an American flag and a Cuban flag in friendship on Guantanamo Bay. I found this over by the Guantanamo Bay Windward Point lighthouse on Gitmo, a historical landmark. Boy times sure have changed.

Here is the lighthouse and what I presume are some of the boats which Cuban refugees made it to Gitmo in back in the day.

And here's the lighthouse barely seen from further down the coastline. There are big gangly cacti all over the place.

One of the guys who drives me back and forth from the airport whenever I leave home for a job was in the Navy in the 50s and was stationed at Gitmo for a little while. He told me they used to hop on a train into Havana when they had leave time. Damn. I would have loved to have hopped the fence and gone to Havana, but you know, we're not allowed to have any commercial business with Cuba any more. And there's this big fence, with landmines. Which makes the butt of this Cuban cigar I found on base quite mystifying.

Gitmo is not what I expected though. It's a small self-contained city, like most American bases I suppose, and could pass for any American suburb if you leave out the iguanas running around everywhere. The housing is very 50's suburb lookin', actually. They have a shopping center, a laundromat, a car rental, a hotel, a McDonald's, a Subway, a public library in which I overheard a conversation between the librarian and a little old lady librarian from the High School library about the dearth of quality books in the schools. They even have a Girl Scouts Camp!

They have a huge Gym Complex including a really nice weight room (embarrassing to go lift weights with a bunch of giant military men but I persevered), a football field and track, baseball diamond, batting cages, skate park, & bowling alley, they had an outdoor movie theater where they show first-run movies every night for free...

I watched 'Green Zone' and 'Hot Tub Time Machine' there. Both very interesting experiences. Hot Tub Time Machine was pretty dumb, but I found myself laughing and enjoying it quite a bit. It's hard to resist the enjoyment of a good fecal matter joke in a stadium full of raucous Navy guys. I'd forgotten what seeing a comedy in a crowded theater could be like. And Green Zone... well that night the theater was fairly quiet, but surprisingly there seemed to be quite a few people there who appreciated the message. I had seen it already of course, but I was very curious to see how people who lived on a base notorious for the controversial and legally shady detention of prisoners would take a film about the recent war built on lies. The more time I spend among the military, the more I get the sense that our government is at war with itself. There are factions and factions within factions. Watching that particular movie in that particular place probably has something to do with that sense, of course. But I'm not talking about partisan bickering or political sides. I tend to feel that the Republicans and the Democrats are actually on the same side, and everything else is just a show. I think it goes on on a deeper level, and that there are sides we don't even know about.

I just can't resist those big lizard shots. I loved watching them just lumber through the outdoor seating area at Starbuck's while people blithely ignored them. (Yes, they have a Starbuck's too.) I'd be all like, "Do you guys see that?! Huh? That's a big damn lizard, just walkin' here!" And they'd be all like, "Whatever." I was hoping that this guy would actually go in the ladies room so I could wait and get a shot of some poor woman running out and screaming. No such luck.

Gitmo also has wind power! There are four of these guys on top of the tallest hill on base, but apparently only one of them is working right now. I went and stood under the one that was working, and let me tell you I wasn't expecting to have an experience like that. There is nothing like having 100 foot tall metal fan blades of death whoooomp whoooomp whoooomping directly over your head.

But you know, there are a lot of places on Gitmo where you are not allowed to take pictures. Like this one.

I was told that I was welcome to take pictures anywhere on base unless I saw one of these signs. Hopefully, taking pictures of the sign won't get me in trouble. But they do a good job of helping the people who live and work there keep the darker side of Gitmo out of sight and out of mind with all these distractions. I couldn't even figure out where the prisons were until after I'd been there for like a week, although to be fair I suppose I wasn't going out of my way too much. But on my second Scuba dive, we went out to a beach where there was a prison up on the hill, and there weren't any signs posted there so... 

Yes, they have scuba diving there too. I got to go on a couple of dives in Guantanamo Bay. Boo-yah.

It was pretty nice diving but we didn't see too much that was very interesting. A moray eel, a stingray. Here's a Gitmo Starfish.

I also got to figure out what ever happened to the Scooby Gang. Guess they stuck their noses into one too many mysteries and got their vehicle confiscated.

Scuba dooba doo!

Anyway, forgive my bad joke. But that's about all I have from that trip. It was pretty cool to get to go and see it firsthand. Not an opportunity most people get and believe me I'm aware of how cool my job is. Hopefully I can get back there one day to get my Advanced Scuba Diver license.

If It Weren't For The Fence, I Could've Sold This As A Dino-Battle

I thought I would go ahead and post this little vignette I witnessed while in Guantanamo Bay since it's going to be another week or so before I can post the rest of my Gitmo pix and junk.

Two Iguanas! One big, one slightly bigger! A battle for territory, or a chick Iguana, or who knows what! Both will survive! But one will be slightly more bloodied than the other! Who will it be? The face-off commences!

I'm In Cuba, But Oddly Enough, It Feels A Bit Like Being On An American Base.

Hi! That's me there, in Cuba! There isn't much to look at here at GITMO, but here's what I have so far. This was my first photo op after landing, as I waited for the ferry to take me over to the main side of the base. 

I have an interesting tale about my flight to GITMO actually, but I want to wait until I can get the pictures off of my phone, which I won't be able to do until I get home. Well ok it's not that interesting; I flew in a really really small plane and got to sit in the co-pilot seat, therefore getting a spectacular night view of the super long bright fence around the base. No photos of that though, unfortunately. Phone cameras are limited. But here's a shot of downtown GITMO, with a McDonald's and a church and everything.

Well I told you there wasn't a whole lot that was picture-worthy around here. I will try harder in the next week or so, promise. Here's a picture of the bay though. In case you wanted to know what it looked like.

And here's a Coast Guard ship, in the Bay. Two for one! 

There are a whole bunch of Iguanas running around here. I saw two of them today alone. This guy was just hanging out in the back yard of my hotel.

And thank you telephoto lens.

Interesting fact: Here at GITMO, Iguanas have more rights than some humans. Iguanas are an endangered species, and under American law, anyone caught harming one can be charged, fined, imprisoned, yadda yadda. A base-wide speed limit of 25 mph is strictly enforced for this reason. But you know, there are those people in that prison somewhere around here who are harmed all the time, so I hear. There are no American Laws or speed limits in the prison cells, sadly. An odd dichotomy.

Ahm Goin' Down t' Git-Mo, The Git's A Friend O' Me; It Lies Beneath The Ocean, It Lies Beneath The Sea!

There's nothing like getting ready for a week in Guantanamo Bay by eating Cuban food specially kept warm since this morning by hotplate at some crappy airport cafe in the jankiest terminal at Fort Lauderdale airport. It seems right somehow. It's not really Cuban food, in the same manner that spaghetti and meatballs from Alfredo's Pizzeria isn't really Italian food. And after all, Guantanamo Bay isn't really Cuba. I mean sure, technically speaking it's on Cuban soil, but it's also a chunk of land that for all intents and purposes is American soil, stolen from Cuba (Sorry, given to us by the 1903 Cuban-American treaty under threat of force, supposedly) without any sense of shame and used for the purposes of incarcerating undesirable foreign "criminals" and to torture them whenever "necessary". And to add insult to injury, we not only do not have a standard SOFA agreement (Status of Forces Agreement) with the country being occupied by us, but we have trade sanctions against them and refuse to allow any form of compromise or travel to or from other parts of the island until they give up their present form of Government! I can't wait! The whole situation reminds me of being in the Green Zone. I've been feeling homesick for a little morally gray international action lately. And you know what? To be honest, that hot-plated Cuban food wasn't so bad. Huh.

So yes I'm headed down to GITMO for work. Have I said, lately, that my job is the awesomest, bestest, coolest, most fantastically righteous job ever in the history of the everything that ever was? We have a computer class down there and I have 2 exams to proctor. Two. Over a ten day period. Apparently the scuba diving down there is fantastic. And I hear the Water Boarding is pretty radical too, can't wait to try that out.

Okay, that's the last time I use that joke, I promise. But It's just too good not to use. Anyway, hopefully I'll have some good photos to post at some point. If there are no more entries posted on my blog before June 1st, I've been thrown into Gitmo prison, so please send lawyers. And a new camera with a wide-angle lens, please.

A Pair Of Tools For The Peripatetic Trade Which Are In Fact NOT Pathetic.

Because of the nature of my job, I find myself spending quite a bit of time sitting around in airports, on airplanes, and in hotel rooms. This didn't used to bother me much as I've always rather loved those essential aspects of travel. I like being in airports and planes and hotels and trains and buses and whatever else. They aren't just a means to an end for me, they're part of the excitement. When I was a baby my parents used to get me to fall asleep by popping me in the car seat and going for a drive; I guess the sound of the motor was comforting as within a minute I would drop right off. Consequently I never was one of those horrible children to take on a long trip who was full of constant complaint and runny nose goo.

However, last year business picked up and it seemed for a while there that I was on a trip every week and even I found myself getting a bit restless with all of the free time on hand which this lifestyle provides. In the beginning my MP3 player was a huge source of comfort; it's one of the most genius inventions ever afforded to a traveler, and has been my main traveling tool for quite a number of years. All your music with you wherever you go, instead of a small envelope of cds you painstakingly had to choose out from your collection. But for constant 4 and 5 hour flights, I found myself turning it off and just reading until I passed out as much as possible. But for several day long trips, I really only could fit one or two books in my luggage and inevitably I'd finish them far too soon. And then, something wonderful happened.

For Julie’s birthday last year I gave her an Amazon Kindle. I thought that it would make a great present for a writer and avid reader. I hadn’t had much interest in one myself; I am an avid reader, however since ebooks first arrived on the scene I’ve always thought that reading a book without the benefit of paper pages and a well illustrated cover would cheapen the experience somewhat. Not to mention some of the other drawbacks: you can’t lend or borrow ebooks unless you’re willing to loan someone your $250 Kindle for the time it takes them to read it, and if you spill coffee on a real book you’re only out 5 to 20 bucks.

However, once I got to experiment with hers a little bit, when she wasn't using it of course, I found it to be pretty cool and valiantly hid my jealousy from her for about a month of pure torture, until of course she wasn't fooled for a second of it and bought me one for Christmas. Huzzah!

I like the fact that it's not backlit by computer screen light. It really does look just like a paper page and is as easy on the eyes as a normal book. I don't mind at all having to use a regular light to read by. Plus the electronic ink is extremely power saving. The Kindle is not using battery power to keep your page on the screen; it's actual ink (well, not actual ink, but tiny microcapsules about the diameter of a human hair), magnetically positioned on the underside of it to look like the book page you want it to. It only uses power to turn the page. The battery can last for weeks.

Also, page turning and bookmarking have really gone to the next level with Kindle; in fact I'd call it a major paradigm shift in how we read. I never lose my page. If I fall asleep while reading and it drops to my lap, or if something distracts me and I put it down without thinking, it of course just stays on the page you're reading and even when it turns off, it just powers back up right to your page. Even if you browse to other documents or books on your Kindle, when you open up your book again it will start right on the last page you were on. And you wouldn't think it, but page turning is a big deal. Now I can read from any position, and I never have to jink my elbow out from leaning on it to turn the page or sacrifice a comfortable station to flip to the next chapter. With whichever hand I'm holding the Kindle with, I just subtly click one of the two page turn buttons provided on each side of it. It may not sound as awesome as it is, but if you are a prolific reader you'll appreciate it when you get to try it out for a while.

But of course the best part of the Kindle is how damn many books you can bring with you wherever you go. There are thousands of free books available for it, mostly classics. So if you ever wanted to read Sherlock Holmes or Dracula or The Brothers Karamazov, but never got around to it, it's the perfect time. One of the first books I read on it was Uncle Tom's Cabin, because I never really understood why a book that was supposedly anti-slavery came to be considered a rather racist thing to call someone. Well now I get it, and it also made me see a side of the years of slavery in America I'd never really considered before and so look! The Kindle has helped to broaden my horizons and expand my mind already. Plus, I never run out of books to read now, no matter how long I'm on a trip for. It's awesome.

The downsides are there of course, though minimal. I'm not allowed to read it, for example, during takeoff and landing. Stupid. Plus the aforementioned being unable to lend or borrow books easily. But the advent of the ebook reader fills a need for readers that has been the hole in our hearts all this time that we could never identify. Anyway, it's not like you can't still pick up a real book if you want. I have plenty. Plus my Dad also got me a cool present for Christmas; justtherightbook.com sends me a book every once in a while based on specifications he gave them on my reading preferences. So the ebook is just another option, which is a good thing, I now believe.

The other essential travel tool-at-which-I-once-scoffed is the GPS. I hated the idea of those things. I always felt that part of the fun of traveling is figuring out your route yourself, and potentially getting lost, finding something you might not otherwise have found, and finding your way again. Venice, Italy is the premiere spot for this mode of travel, incidentally. Plus, you know, being suspicious of human nature in general I never liked the idea of "them" being able to pinpoint me wherever I am. But I carry a cellphone so... there's no hiding in this world any more from people who want to find you anyway.

However, my job often puts me in odd places around the US where I don't really have the time or the desire to wander about much, such as say Indiana. Ugh. And I'm always having to find my way out to odd spots in the middle of nowhere where the roadsigns make no sense and the locals have none either. (Have no sense, in case the wording of my little joke confused you) Such as say, some military base in Indiana. Or North Dakota. Ugh. And trying to read a map or directions printed out from mapquest can be quite difficult and dangerous while driving on busy highways or winding country roads. I'd of course mentioned this frustrating aspect of my job to Julie now and again, and last year for my birthday she bought me a GPS. I. Freaking. LOVE. It. And her. She's so smart and pretty and cool.

It has a little map, that shows me where I am, shows me where to go, and even talks to me and tells me when to turn. If I need to find a grocery store, or a gas station, or whatever, I can just touch the screen and it takes me to the nearest one. If I make a wrong turn, it recalculates and tells me where to go. No more driving-in-strange-scary-places-stress. Ah. The other great aspect of a GPS is for example, when you buy something on Craigslist. I've been getting quite a few deals lately from people on Craigslist. Bought a really nice desk for my new office and outfitted a home gym in the basement nice and cheap through people getting rid of old stuff. People who, incidentally, live all over the damn place. Typing their address into the GPS takes me right to their doorstep. No muss no fuss.

My traveling life at work is now stress free, thanks to these two awesome travel tools. Oh and also thanks to the Percoset my doctor prescribed for my back pain when flying in cramped little economy seats. That with a glass of wine and a good book and my flight is over before it began.

Ducks! On A Pond! Douglas Firs! I'm Thinking Of Investing In A Small Piece Of Property Here, Which I'm Sure Will Be Reasonably Priced.

And they say you can never go back. Well maybe not, but you can sure hit the same co-ordinates and then dream that you're back.

And return customers based in Seattle sure doesn't hurt, either. Gave me a chance to go for an early morning hike.

The North Pacific smells like Eden. When you're deep in those woods, anyway. I just know I'm gonna get lost in those woods again tonight, Doc.

And while I was lost in those woods, I also found some other old dream haunts of ours. Big Log!

Sheriff!

Pete!

That would be the sheriff's station and the Packard Sawmill, seen from unusual angles. There was a real world cop there guarding the place from rabid Twin Peaks fans whom I attempted to reassure that I was not, in fact, one of them. When he didn't believe me I had to sneak into those woods again for some guerrilla shots.

Roadhouse! And from the more familiar angle:

And Bookhouse! Boy.

So, excellent day for dreams.

My San Diego Mission Of Religious Decommission

San Diego. Eh. I don't see what all the fuss is about. I had a job there for 7 days the other week. Julie lived there for a short time after college, so I used some miles to bring her along to give me a tour of her old stomping grounds. The thing about San Diego that sucks is that it's ALL highway. Want to go a couple of blocks away for dinner? Get on the highway. Not because it's a shortcut, but because the only roads are highways. But one thing we found that was super cool in San Diego was the Geisel Library on the San Diego campus of the University of California.

Cool right? Because he once said that if he were to ever design a building that it would look like that, it is named in honor of this guy:

 

The human, not the cat. You know, that one there with the hat. We happened to be there on the good Dr.'s 106th Birthday, and they had a few of his sketches on Display.

Apparently they were also going to have their annual birthday party for him out in front of the library, with punch and pie, but they canceled that this year due to some racial incidents that have recently plagued the University. It apparently began with the Compton Cookout, a frat party where guests were supposed to come dressed as racial stereotypes, and then someone put a KKK hood over the Dr. Suess statue's head, and then someone hung a noose in the library. It's all very weird and I don't understand it. I thought that California was supposed to be a bastion of tolerance? For different types of people at least, as long as they drive a hybrid, are vegetarians, and recycle, etc etc... Well I guess I was myth-taken. Between their unusually deep economic troubles, their recent vote against equal rights for homosexuals, and now this, I'd have to say that things are going downhill over there, and that's a bad sign for the rest of us, shall we say, less plastic liberals in the country. (Not to mention what's happening to public education in Texas; not that it's a surprise as such, just that every day our once great nation gets weirder and weirder and more willfully ignorant, and it's happening at an alarming rate. Dollhouse.)

All I can say is, if you're going to cancel the birthday party of the man who wrote 'The Sneetches' and 'The Butter Battle Book', well, the terrorists win again. I mean the racists! The racists win again. Whatever. Same thing. Bad people scaring good people into reacting ineffectually. (Thanks for stealing my thunder by the way, Miss Luongo. :)

Well anyway. We took a drive up the Pacific highway, which is "one of the good ones"... highways, I mean. Obviously. We stopped on an oceanside cliff in La Jolla.

Paragliding is cool. My friend Dirk, when we lived in Germany, used to snowboard all day, then strap on his paraglider and fly down to the river where his VW Van (which he called his toybox) was waiting with his kayak, and he'd kayak down the river into town. One of his less insane friends of course usually had to help him out with the logistics of that of course.

The last adventure of ours of note, besides lunch on Laguna Beach and a corona in Tijuana, was our visit to San Juan Capistrano. There's some famous mission there. You know, a church built by missionaries back in the early days of westward expansion for the purpose of bringing God's word to those stupid heathen Native Americans.

And how best to make these savages understand that God means business?

 Why stand around and be all holier than they while making them do all the laundry, of course! And then make them build the building that honors your God through slave labor!

That will teach those stupid dumbbrain injuns to not have ever heard about Jesus. Everyone knows you can not teach an injun to be holy except by showing 'em how, with ancient European holy martial art; holy-shit-I'm-so-holy-stance!

I especially love how the present day mission museum was ashamed enough of these dioramas to shove them in a back corner that I was super lucky to find but not enough to, you know, get rid of them.

So what did I learn about the San Juan Capistrano Mission?

That priests love being in authority over children of ALL ethnicity. And are very holy fucking creepy about that fact. Isn't that right, Pope Friendly? Seriously! Look at this guy! He is the best Pope ever, because he gives the creepy shivers like no other! Hey Pope Child Molester! I have a funny religious joke for you: What do you call a pregnant virgin? A fucking liar!

Well, That Gum I Like Came Back In Style, But The Pie And Coffee Were Garmonbozia!

And if you don't know what Twin Peaks is, I suggest you Netflix it right now, loser. (It's the Great Grandfather of a prestigious TV family tree; Twin Peaks begat Northern Exposure and X-Files. X-Files begat Buffy, and Buffy begat all the other great TV shows of the day. Yes, including LOST.) Most of Twin Peaks' iconic scenes were filmed in and around North Bend, WA. Only a half hour drive or so East of Seattle.

I'm not going to show you the super dorky pictures that Julie and I took of us standing in front of that mural. Private collection only. Anyway, as you can see from their menu below, Twede's Cafe definitely capitalizes on their Twin Peaks history.

I have to say however that the coffee was only Damn okay, and that Julie makes a way deadlier Cherry Pie. Which is actually okay as far as nerd continuity goes because [nasal voice] actually, [pushes glasses further up bridge of nose] the damn fine cuppa coffee was served at The Great Northern and the Cherry Pie that was destined to kill Diane and Albert was served at the Lamplighter Inn, where Agent Cooper stopped at on his way in to Twin Peaks, not at the R&R Diner. The R&R diner coffee was the "Give yourself a present every day, Harry" coffee.

Judging by the Tweety Birds swinging from their gibbets and other kitschy crap all around the diner, I'm not sure that the current owners are very concerned with creating an authentic Twin Peaks experience.

However, the pictures in the back were a good way to keep me from going all nasally on them and demanding to see the manager about the finer points of fan appeasement. That and the Twin Peaks magnet I bought for my fridge.

We didn't have a whole lot of time in North Bend, sadly, so I didn't get to track down the more obscure sites of Twin Peaks as I would have liked, but we hit the other big one.

And a higher exposure shot, because it was the wrong time of day to get a decent shot and I think weird shots of The Great Northern are cool.

Also, we found Ronette's train trestle. I think. It looks like it, right?

Well, I'm going back to Seattle in March, so maybe I'll be able to find some more geek time then.

Fallingwater Is A Good Name For A House Built On Top Of A Waterfall

Julie and I took a side trip through my old hometown of Ligonier, PA on the way back from dropping her Grandmother off at home after Christmas. It hasn't changed a bit. It looks a lot like Star's Hollow (the fictional town from The Gilmore Girls) this time of year. But Julie discovered that Frank Lloyd Wright's most famous work, Fallingwater, was only a few miles away from there and so we made another detour to go see it. It was beautiful, of course. You're not allowed to take pictures of the inside, which is a real shame for you, but I snapped a few of the usual outside shots.

Going to see Fallingwater felt a lot like going to see a European Castle, quite honestly. It was a beautiful palace built by the super wealthy on a remote piece of land in a beautiful setting. In some ways it even reminded me of Neuschwanstein Castle in Bavaria, though not as large of course. And they look nothing alike. It was more a feeling.

There was another Frank Lloyd Wright house just a few miles from Fallingwater named Kentuck Knob, so we went to see that too. It was more modest and also awesome. His houses make me sick with envy. If I were to design my own house, I would steal the hell out of his ideas. Again no pictures of the inside, and only one or two crappy outside shots.

Desert Fox Depravity In The Deepest Depths Of Death Valley. And Delicious Dates.

I know I promised more Death Valley pictures like, a month ago. It's been a busy month. I've put way more time than I bargained for into putting an addition on my house. Well not so much an addition as turning a patio/porch into a room which one day seemingly far in the future will be my den. Anyway, exciting for me, dull for you. On to some Death. Valley. This is a lava rock that looks like some freaky medusa head.

This is the lowest point in North America, Badwater Basin, which is about 282 feet below sea level. The road lookin' thing they are standing on there is a road of salt. Pretty much all the white in the picture is salt.

And of course, being who I am and all the weirdness which that implies, I had to have a taste. FYI, it tastes just like salt. With a hint of dirt.

In contrast, here's me being weird at the lowest point on Earth, the Dead Sea in The Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. (1385 feet below sea level.)

Give me a break, this was back in 2005. I've lost weight since then. And it's Dead Sea mud. Good for the skin. This was only supposed to be a gratuitous "hey look what other low point I've visited" shot. Shut up.

So anyway I was driving through the valley of death, yay, and this guy ran out right in front of my car forcing me to screech to a halt, and then stood there looking at me. It was kind of spooky.

So since he made it so easy, I of course got a few shots in. But then I felt bad; in foreign countries when you want to take pictures of the locals and they catch you doing it, they want you to buy something from them or just give them a few cents in payment. The water sellers in Morocco are the worst for that, by the way. Oh and Egyptians on camels. It's like they think I owe them for violating their privacy or something ridiculous like that.

Anyway, this desert fox stood there purposefully posing for me to take photos of him, and I felt bad. I had a bag of dates in the car, so I threw him a couple. And when I did, it was very apparent that this had been his plan all along. I totally got carjacked by a desert fox! They don't call them foxes for no reason. Clearly, he'd been running this little scam for a long time. I imagine food is hard to come by in Death Valley for a mammal. I know you're not supposed to feed animals in National Parks, but his tricks confused me! I was all befuddled and stuff! He used foxy black magic on me!

Well you can't blame him for wanting some dates. I've developed an obsession with them myself recently. I used to eat them right off of the date palms that grew everywhere in Baghdad, and they were delicious. I'd forgotten. They grow them in California, and every time I go there for work I buy like 5 pounds of them and eat the crap out of them all day every day, instead of meals. I've gotten so obsessed that lately I've taken to visiting the China Ranch Date Farm near Tecopa California after driving through Death Valley and buying them direct. I bring home several pounds to last me until my next trip to California. They're very sweet, like candy, but very healthy.

Apparently Reading PD James Influences The Way I Write My Bitter Rants

I realize that complaining about airports and airplane travel is rather banal and overdone, and that there is nothing new I could possibly add to the general discussion in this matter. But complaining isn’t about creativity or elevating the conversation; it’s about getting things off of your chest and passing on the impotent rage of less-than-rage deserving things. For me, in the case of all things air travel, it’s about dealing with the shock of modern dehumanity.

 So let’s start with the TSA agents. I’ve already made my contempt of security in general known, that I feel that security is %90 for the sake of appearances and comfort for the dimwitted, and only %10 of any actual effective deterrent, if that much. For instance I found, while digging through my carry-on bag looking for my ibuprofen, a large tube of sunblock that I’ve been apparently carrying around on planes with me for months. I’d forgotten I had it in there and of the 30 times I’ve been through security clearance to get to my departure gate since I first placed the lotion in my bag, exactly zero TSA guards have caught it, obviously.

 And now I want to add that the TSA agents themselves are a dull and predictable consequence of the paranoid yet exasperating culture of security. They are people who quickly become a natural extension and personification of the tepid evils of their jobs. They fall into a few general categoric personalities, and I’ve named the ones I see the most often.

 Slagathorn is the bitchy generally older but sometimes merely overweight female who thinks she works on a factory line inspecting cans of meat product. She talks to people queuing up to have their traveling lives inspected as though we are a single multi-headed cow whom if she were to look us in the eye would cause her to feel as though she needed to bathe. She treats us as though we are retarded 3rd graders who still don’t comprehend how to line up rather than as tired and confused travelers who can’t always keep up to date on the latest byzantine line-up rules dreamed up by the security authorities which pointlessly change from day to day, even hour by hour, as well as from airport to airport. She sees us trying to collect our bags after they’ve been processed by their X-ray contraption and yet will still attempt to push them all in a row further down the conveyor belt the second they emerge in order to clear the way for yet more bags and totes coming through as though we were weren’t standing there already waiting for our bags, so we consequently wind up stepping on each other’s toes and reaching over, under, and past the next guy to try and snag our bags which were a second ago just in front of us.

 Dullard Bing is the guy who, in order to relieve the boredom and tension of his job, tells bad jokes about what to take out of your bags, which of your clothes must come off and what stays on, all with a slightly condescending though ultimately apologetic manner as though he actually has a glimmer of how demeaning their job requires them to be. He’s trying to put us at our ease about our upcoming rectal exam by being our funny friend, but unfortunately lacks the true wit required by this position and in any case isn’t doing so out of sympathy, but for the purposes of crowd control.

 Then there is Paws Grubby. I hate this guy the most. He’s the guy who loves his job more than the others because occasionally, if the TSA agent currently scanning your bags via X-ray vision stops drooling long enough (thus, the X-Ray scanner’s name is Señor Droolcup) to spot something suspicious like a bottle of water or some nail clippers, then Paws Grubby gets to look through your bags while you have to sit there and watch him do it. It’s not just the violation of privacy of the job itself; that’s unfortunately the nature of the beast and in order for the illusion to work, sometimes bags must be checked. I get that. What makes this agent particularly odious is the casual disregard for your sovereignty as a person from a position of bureaucratic (and hence, petty) authority with his commentary on the things you choose to take with you. If he were to find a knife or a bomb or a bottle of sunblock, fine. Make a comment, confiscate it. Them’s the rules. But if you find my vitamin box and feel the need to jovially judge me on being a silly person for being a health nut; don’t, you fat retarded slug. Or when you find a bunch of computer gadgets and want to say something witty like “Wow, you really need all this stuff on the plane?” Fuck off. Just fucking die. My life is not up for your review. I don’t like you and I don’t respect your job, even if I have to put up with it silently.

 I think that ultimately what I despise about the TSAs is that they don’t seem to realize that they are an inconvenience to us, not the other way around. I know they don’t see it that way because they’ve been told that they’re protecting us from more would-be planejackers. But the reality is that they are not. If I can get a bottle of sunscreen onto a plane 30 times, not to mention my big metal pointy tripod, they aren’t stopping anybody with the will to do so from doing something tragic.

 But whatever. It is the way it is. This rant of mine is really just my frustration at my own powerlessness to end stupidity in the human race. It’s a frustration caused by many things, but most notably by the daily barrage of stupid people in and on and reporting the news, and by the people that eat it all up. I’d rant about that, but they do that very well over at the Huffington Post already and anyway that’s what posting links on facebook is for. I guess that I used to think that religion was the greatest evil plaguing mankind, but I’ve been realizing more and more, through the dubious joys of general human interaction, that stupidity and willful ignorance are the greater. In any case, you couldn’t have religion without those two as the catalyst.

 There’s another thing that got to me on the plane, which made me sad in a different way. When I have a window seat, I enjoy staring out at the sky. When there are an especially large amount of cumulus, the clouds can transport me for the entire flight in a bemused trance. It still amazes me that we can fly in a huge metal can, thousands of feet above clouds. One of my favorite feelings in the world is the sudden jolt of catching a rare and quicksilver glimpse of another plane going in another direction. It’s a fascinating perspective to see another plane so high up; it really gives you a clearer sense of how fast planes are going, how high up you are, and of how odd the whole endeavor is. We’ve made the dream of flight routine, but when you take the time to meditate on it, you remember how amazing and beautiful it is that we fly.

 But then the in-flight movie comes on. Usually it’s some safe, trite rom-com or inspiring yet shallow drama which I have no interest in seeing. On this flight I had an aisle seat, and the Captain came on the intercom and asked those sitting by a window to close their shades so that everybody could see the movie screens better, and everybody did. This made me incredibly sad. Maybe I’m just too sensitive today, but it felt like a betrayal of the spirit. When I have a window seat, the shade stays open, even if it’s a rare occasion where I happen to want to watch the movie. It’s unthinkable for me to close the shade, especially just to try and get a clearer view of a tiny screen with a brain killing movie. One time a person sitting behind me tapped my shoulder and asked me to close my shade, and I told him no. He seemed a little surprised, but I didn’t understand why; I myself felt that he’d been incredibly rude & insensitive to even ask. Now I know that it’s because in modern life, it’s more important to shut the outside, well, out, and zonk yourself out whenever possible, and I’m the weirdo.

For a fun bonus anti-TSA story, click on the TSA agent in action below.

I Have A Knack For My My My I Yi Woo, M M M My Tcha-rona...

Yes, it's time for my latest Trona Pinnacles photo shoot. I was there again last week. What's this like, my fourth time out there? But don't worry, it's not the last. I'm going back again in a few weeks.

This time I tried for some nice sunset pictures. And mostly failed. I need to get there a bit earlier and find a better vantage point.

I was compensated however by running across a movie crew filming something! I didn't want to interrupt because they were trying to get some audio before they had to pack it in for the night, so I never got to find out what they were filming. But have I mentioned before that Trona Pinnacles is where they shot parts of the Forbidden Zone in Planet of the Apes, and many many original Star Trek episodes? I'm sure I must have. Hollywood just loves filming sci-fi in front of those big deserty rocks.

And so then here are my latest night shots. I have to tell you, it is wicked creepy out there at night all by myself. To get to the pinnacles, you have to drive about 20 miles outside of Ridgecrest through the desert, where you pass nothing; no gas stations no houses, nothing. And then you take a right onto a dirt road which you follow for about 7 more miles even deeper into the desert. And it's a rocky, bumpy, rutted dirt road. And there's no one and nothing out there. All you can think about the whole time is that your car is your last link to your life. If it dies, I'm screwed. And the worst part is, I'm so stupid that every time I've gone out there, I wind up going with a quarter of a tank of gas or less and only one bottle of water, because I'm in such a rush to catch the sunset or the moonlight or whatever that I don't stop to think about that stuff until the sun is already down and I've taken about 100 pictures already.

And when it's dark, those rocks look like big creepy people who want to do sinister things to me. Very shivery. But also very neat, and lonely, and fun.

That's a big piece of coral there. The pinnacles used to be at the bottom of a big prehistoric inland sea.

And stars in a fishbowl!

Big Dipper!

And more stars in a fishbowl!

Stay tuned for my subsequent trip to Death Valley! Again!

Rockets Rockets Everywhere, And Not A Spot To Think

I went on a couple of jobs this month to places that were interestingly related. I was in Minot, ND a few weeks ago, giving a computer security exam on the Air Force base there to military personnel responsible for well, computer security, on the base there. Minot AFB is one of two bases in the US which apparently contain our largest stockpile of Nuclear Bombs. They proudly display an old Minuteman I Missile as you enter the base.

I didn't know that before I got there, that I was going to be aiding and abetting our Nuclear arsenal personnel, and I admit I felt a keen sense of ambivalence when I found out. (That sounds like nonsense, doesn't it? A keen sense of ambivalence?! Kind of an oxymoron; however if you've ever had that emotion you'll know what I mean.) I mean on the one hand, I will always feel the guilt of aiding and abetting our previous administration's dishonest and uber-destructive war reconstruction in Iraq. And so here I was again, in a position of compliance with the most immoral weapon yet conceived by humanity's spinal column thinkers. However I also feel that as long as nuclear weapons exist, well then by gum they oughtta be secured and if my small presence there as an exam proctor allows those with the crucial duty of keeping our warheads safe from being hacked to do their jobs better, then I suppose I feel good about it. Much as I hate nuclear weaponry and wish they'd go away, I don't want them getting lost or stolen!

Wait, what? Uh... do you guys remember that 2007 incident where some nuclear warheads went missing? Yeah, it happened at Minot. They were transporting some ICBM missiles (just the missiles, without the nuclear warheads attached) from Minot to the other big nuclear bomb site in Louisiana, so they loaded them up onto a B-52 for transport, and forgot to remove the warheads. A little bit later, someone was doing their, what, Bi-annual inventory checklist? And said "hey uh, where're those, um, y'know, nuclear warheads that are supposed to be on that shelf over there?"

Meanwhile, there were some very surprised cargo unloaders in Louisiana. "Hey uh, dude? Are we getting paid danger salary today? Do you know how to unscrew a nuclear warhead? Well, I'm sure we can figure it out."

Jesus. Here's a nice shot of some B-52s I got from the public highway.

I hope I don't get in trouble for posting that photo. I shouldn't; like I said I was on a public highway and it's public knowledge that they have bombs and B-52s there, and if they can't be bothered to hide their runway from view on the highway, then I can't see them being bothered to worry about the occasional photo showing up online.

ANYway, so my next job this month was to Huntsville, Alabama, also known as Rocket City. A different kind of missile history, home of Marshall Space Flight Center (itself the original home of NASA) and Space Camp. I had a job for a company that is involved in space and defense contracting, and that was a much better feeling. I think Space is really really cool. I don't know if you know that about me. I got to go to the Rocket museum there.

That was sweet. I did all the kid stuff; saw a 3D movie about Mars, an Imax about our moonwalk missions, and climbed around in old rockets and spacejunk. They obligingly placed some of their items in such a way that taking a wry picture was possible. Space rockets, War rockets, and a carnival ride; whee America!

"Officer! That Man Stole My Wallet!" "Don't Like It? Go Live In Cuba, Socialist!"

"The marvel of all history is the patience with which men and women submit to burdens unnecessarily laid upon them by their governments."
-William H. Borah

It's a lie, you know. Airport security. A shameless, bald-faced ridiculous lie. (What does it mean to say someone is a bald-faced liar? Does that phrase express a distrust of the beardless?) I travel a lot for work, as you may have noticed, and I've actually gotten to the point where I often momentarily forget what city I just arrived from when checking the baggage claim board. "Did I just come from Cleveland, or Los Angeles? Oh yeah, no, San Francisco, it was a direct flight this time."

My point only being that I'm pretty slow in the head when traveling, and it's taken me this long to catch on to the scam; I woke up thinking about it this morning. Part of my travel preparation ritual includes a few things, including wearing slip-on shoes, a plastic belt buckle, and bringing four packed bags; unfortunately I travel heavy due to all of the work items I have to bring, as well as a backpack for my camera and lenses... and my big tripod. I check two bags (don't worry, I'm a Silver Elite flier, no charge for check-ins) and carry on my camera bag and a small book bag with books to read, my mp3 player, my netbook, and sundry other items to keep myself occupied during the endless travel time. SO, my point being, I carry my camera bag on the plane with me, which has a large metal tri-pointy-ended-pod strapped to it, and the TSA security agents DON'T BAT AN EYE.

I've often wondered why that is, exactly. Especially considering that items you are not allowed to bring include, well, water. And you can bring liquids, but they have to be in 3oz bottles AND sealed up in a ziplock baggie. Why? What the hell difference does it make to ziplock them? If you are sneaking acid on a plane to dash in the face of an airline attendant, what the hell difference, security-wise, does it make to have to zip your liquids up in a baggie? A terrorist can train to hijack a plane and fly it into a building, but somehow a ziplocked baggie that he packed himself is going to give him trouble?

And then I realized; it's a smokescreen, a ziplockscreen. (I've often thought about how 90% of all security is mostly for appearance, especially after living in the IZ in Baghdad, to make you scared first and then to feel like you're being kept safe, not to actually make you safer) Anyway, in the aftermath of new and ridiculous airport "security" rules, they banned water. Water. To include all liquids, to make it look good. Then, when they realized that travelers were getting pissed because this meant they could no longer bring their toilet kits on board, especially now that they're charging all you non-elite fliers for baggage check in, they had to backtrack a little and allow toiletries with a few completely nonsensical security precautions, designed solely to save a little face and perpetuate the no water policy; I mean, you can bring 3oz of water on board, but that's not enough for a thirsty traveler. It's all about the water.

Because once I clear security, the first thing I do is head to a kiosk and buy a large bottle of water for my flight. For like $3.00 to $5.00. Because arriving for flights two hours early, layovers, and flight times can take all day, and you've got to have water. AND, airport water fountains are few and far between, and anyway the water always tastes rather rancid. And once you're on the plane, the flight attendants come by once, maybe twice if you're lucky or on a longer flight, with tiny little cups of water. Not enough. I wonder how much the rise in bottled water sales in airports has been since the implementation of, um, dangerous water rules at TSA checkpoints. I also wonder who is the biggest supplier of bottled water to airports across the country. I suspect Halliburton. But then, I suspect them for a lot of things, so take it with a grain of salt. Also, have you noticed lately how much tiny little travel bottles of liquid products cost lately? Sometimes, almost as much as the regular sized ones.

It seems unlikely, I know, to the untrained eye that TSA security is designed mostly to pick your pocket at the airport, especially when they're nominally there to protect you from terrorists. But little things like heavy pointed metal tripods Vs. bottles of water, the nectar of life, something everybody now has to BUY, make me suspicious. That, and everything in the news now is about the fight against greed in the health care industry. The more I read, the more obvious it is that corporate America is out there finding new and improved ways to pay off the US Government to legalize creative pickpocketing by targeting products which a human body can not live without. The fact that water and health care are now considered products is a God Damned tragedy, and disgusting. I honestly don't know which side Obama is really on, but in reality, it doesn't matter. Whether or not he wants to help, the cards are stacked against him, and he seems unable to break down the drug company lobbyists. Especially since, you know, he's dealing with them as though they were a legitimate part of the Government, and not tossing them out like the shills they are.

A Very Bold Statement, Indeed

Yes that's right. Some run-down coal mining town in Northeast PA just outside of Scranton with an inordinately high population of Italian-Americans claims to be the pizza capital of the world. Apparently Old Forge style pizza is like, world famous or something. Therefore, despite the new high protein lo-carb diet I'm trying to start, Julie and I took a bike ride up there for lunch today.

Arcaro & Genell, the pizza restaurant we decided on, (there were many to choose from) claim that their founders invented the White Pizza, according to a newspaper clipping on their wall. Not wanting to delete the only healthy ingredient in pizza, we opted for a red pizza. The Old Forge style consists of a square pie (though they call it a tray) with a so-called double crust. We weren't actually sure what they meant by that. And some sort of secret blend of cheeses.

[noncomm-itally (snork)] It was alright. [/noncomm-itally]

Went To San Francisco Again. Got A New Lens. Sorry About The Dog Pictures.

San Francisco and seagull from Sausalito. I was bored out of my mind in Sausalito.

Laundry day. Tiger Lillies. I think that's what they are. Anyway, I got a wide angle converter lens in the mail yesterday... The shots don't have to be fishbowl; I can zoom out to a more standard wide angle but I was enjoying the effect.

Daddy Long Legs (why are they 'Daddy'?) on a weird flower.

I swore I'd never post pictures of my dog again, but she made a good fishbowl subject, sorry. She may look cute in this picture, but actually she's terrified; I threatened to take her back to the SPCA if she didn't sit still. (Shhh. I never told her it closed. I like to keep using the SPCA kennel as her bogey man. Very effective.)

After a good scolding, Mia pleads for my forgiveness and to be in my fishbowl picture. Is it dog abuse if it's not physical?

Yay! Though I Drive Through The Heat Of The Valley Of Death, My Air Conditioner Watches Over Me

So yes, 3rd time out to the Trona Pinnacles. It's right near where my job is when I go out to that part of California, so it's fast becoming the most photographed part of the US in my portfolio. This time I got out there on a moonless night, so I was able to get the shot I wanted... except that without the moon you have to leave the shutter open for much longer to get a decent exposure, and then the stars move. SO, not quite the shots I was looking for, but nice enough. I need a lens with a really big aperture.

Left my car lights on to get me and my shadows.

Was able to get a cloudy bit of the Milky Way in the next three shots. I love the night sky out West in the middle of nowhere. So much grander than what we're used to on the East Coast.

After my job I had time to take a drive up to Rachel,NV and Area 51 (which I pictorialized already in my last post) by way of Death Valley. One thing I learned about Death Valley while I was there: I need to spend more time in Death Valley. Wow.

The Truth Is Stranger As Fiction: A Pictorial

The signs speak for themselves.




 
Groom Lake Rd, stretching about 12 miles to the entrance of Area 51.


The infamous Black Mailbox, even though it's really white.


Point of no entry.






I park and... wait, what's that up there on the right?


Somebody's Watchin' me...


They're not kidding around!


To hell with it, I'm going for it...


And that's all I can tell you, folks.


Bye bye now.

My Blog Is Apparently No Longer A Blog, But A Photojournal

I haven't been anywhere new for work lately, just a retread of places I've already been. I was back in Northern California a few weeks back, and while I still didn't have time to do Alcatraz, I was able to spend a little time in Sacramento and then run over to the San Francisco bay for a few hours before my flight home. Sacramento... well old Sacramento has a nice college bar strip slash tourist trap vibe...

But there wasn't much else going on that I saw. I did get a shot of Ahnuld's work place though. Just for the hell of it really; I needed to take some shots of Sacramento home with me, and so I took what I could get.

I got to San Francisco just in time to catch some people doing Yoga in front of the Golden Gate bridge. Whew, lucky me. San Francisco freaks!

Yes well obviously San Francisco has much more in the way of Freak to offer than a couple doing yoga by the bay, but I was short on time.

And so ok my derision is obviously unwarranted since I clearly relished the opportunity to throw up two bridge yoga shots; I'm from Pennsylvania and it's a knee-jerk reaction to discuss Yoga and California in the same sentence with derision around here. But I live in a glass house because I just started taking a Yoga class at my gym. Get off my back. The class is free with my gym membership and I have lower back pain. So what if I'm the only guy, and the rest of the class is middle aged women. Hey look over here, it's a sweet old Asian couple in front of the bay and alcatraz.

And so I also just took another quick trip to Ridgecrest California. I'd been there with Miss Luongo back in December, and while there are quite a few cool things to see if you have time to drive around for a day or two, I'd already been to the area's most interesting place to go when you only have a few hours. The Trona Pinnacles, where many many Star Trek episodes were filmed and was also used as part of the Forbidden Zone in Planet of the Apes (The 1968 version). I'd gotten some nice daytime shots there already. So what do you do when you don't have time to make the drive to Death Valley? You go back to the Trona Pinnacles for nighttime shots!

I tried to get the same shot as the one I framed for my show, but my fancy new camera doesn't have the photostich setting on it, so it's really difficult to approximate the space and light issues needed to put a couple of shots together. The moon was making the light issue especially difficult. These were my best efforts.

But aside from that little disappointment, and thanks to other capabilities that my fancy new camera does have and my nice tripod, I was able to get a few pretty sweet ones.

I was out there for like three hours taking minute to 2 minute long shutter stop shots, and boy was it creepy. A lot of those rocks look like scary people in the dark. And it's waaay in the middle of nowhere, with nothing around. Beautiful, though. Once the wiggins went away, I really began to enjoy myself. Those red dots are an airplane that was going by. Neat effect. Makes it kind of alien.

I climbed this mountain! Not this time though. Miss Luongo and I hiked up there the last time we were here. In the day. When I wasn't knocking my knees alone in the dark out here.

See? Scary creepy people doing weird shit.

Meh Pictures From Meh Trips

...And by Meh I mean interesting enough to shoot a dull photo of, but not interesting enough to have blogged about before. I hope that the dullness of these photos has more to do with the meh-ness of the subject material and my inexperience with a fancy new camera than it does with my overall picture taking ability. Though the fancy new camera excuse can only hold so long... I just got done taking a digital photography class at the local night school / Vocational Tech institute. And surprisingly, the Vo-Tech school uniform is NOT actually jeans, Metallica T-shirt, jean jacket and tan workboots. Which really surprised me because I wound up being the only one in class who was prepared for that eventuality.

ANYway, I learned some good stuff in the class, but I still have a lot of practicing to do. None of these pictures display any sort of new knowledge, however. I think I've gone backwards, if anything. One of my Meh trips was to Colonial Beach, VA a few months back. I know, I know KC, I should've called. But I was only there for a night, I had to work, and I just had time to make a quick run to GW's birthplace before heading home.

GW is a hero of mine, by the way. I got all teary eyed while walking around his family's estates and read stuff about him and everything. He could have been King of America, you know. The people were madly in love with him, and they didn't really understand this newfangled business of elections and Democracy and all that rubbish. Had he wanted, he could have retained power easily after his 2nd term, and the people would have cheered. But, he willingly stepped aside, as the political geniuses of the time had seen was a necessary step in not having power rest for too long in the hands of any one man, and set the stage for a Democratic political experiment that appears to have succeded until the 1950's when J. Edgar Hoover ruled the world with a gay iron fist. Just because Democracy has finally failed in the end doesn't mean that our Founding Fathers weren't awesome, and GW had the manliness required to turn his back on power; hence the teary eyes.

Also, I went to Cleveland the other week. Cleveland seemed to have a nice vibe, however the only cool thing there that I got to do was of course the Rock And Roll Hall of Fame.

Cleveland may very well be the birthplace of Rock-n-Roll, or at least, birthplace of the term Rock-n-Roll, but Cleveland overall does not, in fact, rock. And the Hall of Fame? Check this crap out!

I'm sorry, but "no photography" is not very rock-n-roll. I wanted in the worst way to get a shot of John Lennon's Sgt. Pepper uniform, Bootsy Collin's crazy shoes, and Elvis' purple cadillac. And Janis Joplin's painted porsche. And that wack wardrobe Hendix liked to sport.

Actually, there was a lot that was not very rock-n-roll about the place. Run-D.M.C. is getting inaugerated this year. Why? Because they did a song with Aerosmith? Nirvana hasn't even been included in that prestigious list yet. But Nirvana does have a signifigant presence in the museum, however. They pop up in videos and exibits here and there, but this is also very un-rock-n-roll because I didn't see one single mention of the Pixies, whom Kurt Cobain freely and reverently admitted to ripping off. If the Pixies don't wind up in the Hall, that place is a joke. But The Velvet Underground and The Ramones were there, so that's good. But perhaps the most un-rock-n-roll thing about the whole place was the presence of several Guitar Hero kiosks. Guitar Hero is the Anti-Christ of Rock-n-Roll. (I did not take this picture. I lifted it from the interwebs. "the interwebs", as a term, is beginning to irritate me. So that is officially the last time I will ever say it.)

Also, I just got back from Detroit. I drove through Grosse Pointe and other suburbs of Detroit on the way to the airport. I didn't get any pictures, mostly because I was too scared to get out of my car. And I used to live in Baghdad, folks.

I've Been Framed!

Is the phrase "Fateful Coincidence" an oxymoron? I think that on the surface of it, yes for sure. But I'm going to go ahead and use it anyway. I've blogged about fateful coincidences in my life before; Now I have got another good one which serves both as a nice little bookend to the post I just linked to, and allows me to go into the latest bit of news quite nicely.

Now, to be clear, when I say coincidence I mean coincidence. People, objects, and events are like pool balls on the pool table of time. An infinitely large pool table with billions of balls, where everything just careens around and bangs off each other until you're knocked into a side pocket. I don't need greater explanations of why things happen, good or bad, than that. And by fateful, I mean fate as it appears in the rear view mirror. A person's trajectory can appear to have meaning in the background because you can only see a trail once you've blazed it. Ok, enough of the clunky mixed metaphors and onto my latest epiphany of a fateful coincidence.

Back in '96, when I realized I needed to get out of town to seek my fame and fortune, I was pretty cash poor. Well that's misleading... I didn't have anything of value, I was just poor. My plan was to get a bus ticket to Bellingham, WA just north of Seattle and then from there a ferry ride up to Petersberg, Alaska. Those tickets were expensive enough on their own, but I also had to survive for a month or two up there before I'd get paid by the fishing cannery. So, having thrown myself all in, I sold my entire CD collection, about 200 CDs for $800. I sold them to Tom, the owner of the then relatively recently opened Main Street Jukebox. Now, I don't know if you young whippersnappers can appreciate this, but back in '96, $800 was a lot of money. I took it right up the street to Alice's Travel Agency, and bought a Greyhound bus ticket all the way to Bellingham for $88. If it hadn't have been for Tom, I would have had a lot of trouble trying to scrap together enough cash to begin what was to become my fantastic ten years of travel.

What makes this a fateful coincidence? Well that's my news. Tom is hosting my travel photography at the Main Street Jukebox for the month of April! It's my first show, possibly my last, and it makes quite a nice little wrap up to my adventure. My opening is on Saturday April 4th, and there is also a great musician by the name of Nicole Erin Carey playing at 7:00pm. I'm not sure what time I'll be there, probably around 6, but you're welcome to stop in whenever; then or anytime during the month of April. I've spent the last few weeks matting and framing about 30 pictures of mine, the ones I put in my typepad portfolio in fact, and obviously those will be the ones on display. I'm contemplating selling them as well, but I'm hesitant as setting myself up for disappointment is something I generally try to avoid. It's cool enough for me that someone is willing to hang them up!

Now, the best part of this fateful coincidence doesn't stop there. There's more. Alice's Travel Agency? Alice is Alice Luongo, the fabulous mother of the fantastic Julie Luongo, author and artist extraordinaire, love of my life, and also the person who has been nagging me for well over a year to print out some of my photos and try to get them displayed somewhere. Back in '96, do you know what Julie was doing? Working in her mother's shop, is what! It was a long time ago, but I'm positive that the person who sold me my bus ticket was a young pretty girl, and Julie assures me that she was the only young pretty girl working there at the time... Well, you can do the math. Ain't the fateful coincidence game grand?

My basement framing studio.

This Land Is Your Land, This Land Is My Land, From East I-80, To West I-80, But No Tress-pass-ing, On That Private Pro-per-ty, Because That's The Man's Land, And Not Your Or My Land

It's been awhile since I've done a travel post; maybe because travel doesn't turn me on like it used to, or maybe because the places I've gone for work haven't been worth hitting the 'new post' button for. Maybe it's trying to keep a blog going with YouTubes, rants, and silly pictures that has me down. Well, whatever the case may be, this morning I've decided to throw one out there. It's not that I haven't been traveling. I've actually been quite busy at work. But the travel hasn't been quite as exciting lately.

Indianapolis. I spent a couple of days south of Indianapolis. If Sarah Palin's claim that that's the type of place where the real Americans abide is true, then I am certainly not, nor ever will be, a real American. For one thing, I went to a grocery store in Odon, Indiana, to find some food for a couple days. There was a whole aisle of marshmallow fluff and snicker doodles and the like. Lot of frozen dinners. Meals in a box. But, for a farm state, surprisingly limp-looking produce. And aside from this sad produce, not much else in the way of actual food. And this was a real grocery store; the only one for 30 miles in any direction, in fact. The countryside reminded me of a bad set from an M. Night Shamalamabing-bang movie. Indianapolis was pretty sparse as well. It's major attractions were an elevator ride to the top of a 150 foot Civil War monument in the center of town, and the shopping mall.

I also just got back from an overnight in Columbus Ohio. I stayed in the downtown area. Lot of Insurance companies in Columbus. And people who work for Insurance companies.

But before that exciting trip, I did spend a few nights in northern California. That was very cool. I spent a day and night in Calistoga, in Napa Valley. Did some wine tasting. I'm pleased to announce my pick of the year: Bennett Lane Winery's Maximus red feasting wine. Disclaimer: I am partial to red wine, and Maximus feasting wine? Impossible to resist a name like that. And it tastes great too. It's a mix of reds, is great with Roman-style overeating, and is a favorite at Calistoga's best wine bar, the Bar Vino. Could I write for wine aficionado rags or what?

The best part of that trip, however, was that I got to knock another item off of my childhood list of things I've always wanted to see, the Redwoods. There is a section of the Redwood forest about an hour drive away from Calistoga called the Armstrong Redwoods State Natural Reserve, and it pulled me to it like a wooden magnet. Uh, with enough bits of metal in it to actually have magnetism. Yikes, bad simile. Anyway, that place was awesome. I wish my camera had smell capabilities; the Canon Smellshot 1000 or some such, because I've never smelled anything so good and Grove-alicious. I'm still learning how to use my new camera, and although I'm getting better, there's still nothing to shout about. But anyway, it would be hard to capture the awesomeness of Redwoods without a person standing in the shot to give a size comparison, and even so you can't fit a whole tree in a pic taken from ground level anyway. But here are my best shots. To save you from squinting, the sign says:

Colonel Armstrong
Height - 308 Feet
Diameter - 14.6 Feet
Approx. Age - 1400 Years

Colonel Armstrong? Sounds familiar, like something I saw in some book or toy store once... Oh. Never mind. Don't know what I'm talking about. Carry on. And this sign says:

Parson Jones
Height - 310 Feet
Diameter - 13.8 Feet
Approx. Age - 1300 Years

This is an obligatory picture of an upended redwood stump.

And here's a part of the redwood trail that got flooded by some earlier rains. I'm a sucker for reflection, of late.

So that was really gorgeous. I've always wanted to see a Redwood, and it was worth the wait. It was beautiful and exhilarating, but it also made me sad. It was such a lush grove, the smells were amazing and the colors and fresh air vivid, but I've read that the whole of the American continent was once like that. Not so much covered in Redwoods, but lush and smell-erific with other vegetations. It makes it even more depressing when you travel around and see what "real Americans" have done with the land we've taken custody of. Not to get all Native American philosophic or anything, but.

SO, on my last day in California, I flew out of San Francisco. I didn't get to spend much time in the city, because I really had wanted to do Napa and the Redwoods, but I drove through Berkley and Oakland, and wandered around Pier 39 for a bit. I didn't have time to do Alcatraz, dammit, but I got a picture anyway.

 

So that's that for now. I think I have a job in Cleveland in a few weeks. Rock-n-Roll hall of fame, here I come!

Coda, Or Addendum, Or Post-Script, Or, You Know, One Of Those Thing-ummies

And last but not least on my fabulous work-ation from last year, we hit the Petrified Forest, which is another place I'd sort of romanticized since I was very young. It's hard to express the fascination of a young boy who dreams of finding buried treasure and trees that turn to stone, but there it is. I won't say that it was a disappointment, because it certainly wasn't, but it was not how I used to imagine it. Stone trees standing tall in a thick forest with stony leaves... well I didn't really think it was going to be like that by the time I was old enough to visit it on a work-ation, but I was hoping.

So it wasn't like some sort of fantasy crystal forest, but still. Look at that! Looks like wood! But it's not! It's the result of an amazing natural process which reminds me of how computer information copies itself. A tree gets knocked down in a big flood. Gets buried in silt and volcanic ash and silica and all kinds of nasty junk. Over time, the silica it is buried with takes the place of each grain of wood, often becoming colored by certain other oxides that are buried also such as iron and manganese, until there's no wood left, but an extremely faithful copy of each grain, thanks to time and pressure. Time and pressure are all that Andy Dufresne had... Sorry, wrong movie. Anyway, computers obviously don't knock down trees and bury them in volcanic silicate in order to copy information, (although to a more advanced computer geek than I, I'm sure that comparisons could be made) but it's the bit-by-bit copying that is similar in my mind. Sometimes the oxide coloring of petrified wood can be quite dull. Sometimes it's cool and mimics the color of wood in a way as in the above photo. Sometimes it's wicked.

I wanted to take home a chunk in the worst way, but there were signs all over threatening death, disease, mortification, and a chatty lesbian Park Ranger to all who pilfered from the forest. I guess it's a real problem, and I can see why... I think Saint Abstain himself would want to steal this log. (St. Abstain is a mental construct pincushion of mine, don't ask) The other cool thing they had in the Park were a whole bunch of petroglyphs carved by Pueblo Indians back in the day.

 

They don't really require much explanation do they? Some Indians got bored staring at the plains all day, so they charred up some rock and carved some art into them. Something to do, something to look at. I got loads more pictures of Trees that turned into rocks, and graffitti on rocks, over in my Petrified Forest National Park, Arizona gallery. Also, I finally made it through my billions of Grand Canyon photos and put a few up in my Grand Canyon, Arizona gallery, naturally enough. Here's one that really turned out well, I thought. Monks always make pictures more interesting.

The West Is Big And Full Of Holes And Rocks

As promised, here are a few more pictures of the Trona Pinnacles. I know it's been a while; it's been a very busy few weeks here. But Christmas is over, I'm finally getting settled in to the new place, and my routines are slowly renewing their control over my life, so here we go. The picture above isn't really a scary-ass man with a halo, it's just a rock with the sun placed conveniently behind it. But you can see why maybe some location scout thought this might be a good place to film a Forbidden Zone or two.

As I didn't get a chance to explain last time, the Trona Pinnacles were once formations at the bottom of an inland sea in southern California. Now they are formations in the middle of a desert in southern California. Geology is quirky that way. I took the following photo from the top of one of the pinnacles. There was absolutely no one and nothing for as far as I could see (except for the borax mining company we passed on the way in; much of the ground on the way out to the pinnacles is white with borax. Pretty neat looking) and there were no signs telling us we couldn't climb them, so of course one is obligated to do so.

I put up many many more very forbidding shots over at my smugmug page, as usual. The Trona gallery is here. And now for...

Meteor Crater Arizona! After our 2 days at that really large canyon, we headed down to Flagstaff Arizona to see what was what. The first thing I wanted to do, naturally enough, was to blow right past town and head out to Winslow where a meteor crashed into our dear home not too long ago, around 42,000 B.C. and made yet another really really big hole in the ground. It's hard to get an idea of the size of this thing from the photo... hell it was kind of hard to get a good perspective on it standing right at its rim! Granted, it's not even close to the immensity of the Grand Canyon, but this is a very different beast and equally as cool for different reasons. So here's a gauging aid:

That itty bitty pebble on the top of the rim, directly above the viewing scope is indeed the size of a house. Big crater. Small meteor. Makes one really hope that we figure out a way to blast bigger rocks out of the Earth's path jackrabbit quick. I mean, an even better way than sending oil rig drillers into space. (That would be an Armageddon reference, by the by. What's the opposite of creative genius? Michael Bay, that's what) It was so windy the day we were here that I was actually picked up off my feet slightly when I tried to go up past an area they had roped off so I could get a better shot. That was neat. I of course have my Meteor Crater gallery with more photos over at smugmug. Anyway, back in Flagstaff...

We visited the Lowell Observatory! Percival Lowell thought he'd discovered canals on Mars back in like 1895 with this very telescope! What a maroon. I'd loved that story since hearing about it from Carl Sagan in Cosmos, which I'd read long before seeing the TV series. Because of his mistake, he fired up many a young boy's imagination with thoughts of Mars and Martians, culminating in HG Wells' War of the Worlds. Pluto was discovered here, as well as the observation that the galaxies were receding from us very very fast which lead to the discovery that the Universe is expanding. Good scientific history. The telescope was also awesome to visit because it just looks so damn cool. Very Steampunk. Those are truck tires which rotate the roof of the observatory so that the telescope can be pointed at any direction in the sky. Here's a quick video I took:

The only other thing notable in Flagstaff was the hotel we stayed at, the Monte Vista. It has a bunch of hokey ghost stories about it which Miss Luongo posted about already. Parts of Casablanca were filmed there, and it's one of those places where movie stars love to check in. We stayed in the room in which Lee Marvin resided while filming some western or other. Wicked. Flagstaff Gallery is here.

So I actually have more stuff, but I'm tired of this post. I'll save it for the next one. I took way too many pictures this trip and had way too much free time, causing me to visit way too many Arizona attractions. Ugh. Work is hell.

Grand Grandy Grandness And The Canyon Of Death

As we were checking into our hotel on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon (The Bright Angel Lodge) the other day, the desk lady said to me; "Oh, I see that you are staying in one of our historic cabins!" Suitably interested, I replied "Oh yeah? What happened there?" A blank look ensued. "I mean," I attempted to clarify the seemingly unclarifiable for her, "why are they historical?" "Oh," she said. "They're really old."

I'm not sure that historical means what the Bright Angel Lodge front desk lady thinks it means, but still, her statement was true enough as far as it went. The Grand Canyon itself is of course the best example of this definition of historical. It's really, really old, although nothing of import has happened there, per se. It certainly is historical in the sense of the importance that we choose to give it just for existing.

I'm here to tell you folks, the Grand Canyon isn't just a 60's family-in-a-station wagon stop over on a road trip vacation any more. The place is incredible. I can't pass on the feeling of standing at the rim and looking into forever to you, any more than anyone who went there before me was ever able to impart how awesome it is to me. "Yeah yeah, the Grand Canyon." I'd say. "It's Grand, isn't it? Sure sure, I'd like to see it some day, why not?"

Pictures are no good, either. No matter how many pictures I took of it (and believe me, I took a lot) there is no way to fit it all in there. Even panoramic shots are a joke. It just goes on and on forever and there's no way to do it justice. It's the biggest living fractal on Earth. Here's a Geological survey map showing it in all it's fractal glory.

I did get this shot of a near Darwin Award winner. His girlfriend dropped her camera over the edge of the railing at one of the lookout points, and it stopped just before going over the very very very steep cliff of death. So this guy valiantly goes to get it. Two ladies happened to be there who lent him their walking poles in order to try and snag the camera by the strap. He kept inching closer and closer to the camera... I was sure he would fall so of course I started taking pictures. To be fair, I did tell him he really really shouldn't do this, that surely the Park Rangers would have some sort of grabby device he could borrow. Sage advice offered from the passenger seat is rarely heeded however. The ladies who lent him the poles had to go to the other side of the lookout so they couldn't see him; they couldn't watch, he was making them queasy. Julie was feeling a bit uncomfortable, but didn't want to miss the excitement. I was, um, documenting this event, and his girlfriend watched excitedly and never once tried to talk him out of this madness. "My pictures from the last 4 days are on that memory card", she explained. Creepy.

They sell a book in all the Canyon gift shops called Death in Grand Canyon which is full of tales of stupid people falling into it. Unfortunately, my near-Darwin experience guy was successful and lived to see his girlfriend's photos or this would be a very different post. I never get to see Darwin in action, dammit!

Uh, I mean, all's well that ends well, whew, praise Jesus amen. Hey guys, look over here, pretty big hole in the ground, huh?

Well that's pretty much all I got from my adventures at the very big canyon. I mean, there are many many more pictures, and a few more good tales, including one about a hand caught in a car trunk, a philosophic carpenter and a coy elk, but perhaps I'll bore you another time. Meanwhile, we spent a night in Flagstaff and are now getting ready to leave Las Vegas, so I'll have more stuff later. Grand Canyon!!

Snapshots From The Forbidden Zone

I'm in California! For work. Not for fun, of course. Work work work. Don't have time for a full post, (too busy um, working) but here are some black and white photos I took today. Guess where I am.

They film movies here all the time. Planet of the Apes, and Star Trek V, for instance. I think that Sigourney Weaver and William Shatner live in a cave out here somewhere, so that the commute to work is easier.

It's a place 20 miles outside of Ridgecrest, California in the Mojave Desert by the Sierra Nevadas called the Trona Pinnacles. It's totally wild out here.

But I have to get going... I'm out here for another week or so, lots to do. Here's a color photo I took of my first up close look at the actual Pinnacles. I have a mess of them of course, but I haven't had time to go through them all yet. I'll post more another time.

Mount Rainier Is Often Much Rainier. And Don't Tell Me That Rainier Isn't A Word.

I spent a few more days in Seattle this past week. Sorry Jordan and Alison, for not calling this time around... I was stuck on Bainbridge Island for the whole two days I was there; no real free time this round. I did get to spend a morning in the town of Poulsbo... very proud of their supposed Viking heritage there. Cute town though. Bought some tea and used books. That's the thing about America... traveling and history here often don't really stand up very well next to other parts of the world. I mean sure, America has some exciting history, but it's rather few and far between. For instance in almost any small po-dink European town you go to, something cool happened there. Mozart was born there, or Franz Ferdinand was shot there, or a King was dethroned there, or the world's most famous physicist studied there, or dangerous idealistic crusades were crushed there, or fire was discovered there... well you know. But in the States... well okay, there is some cool stuff. We have loads of cool landscapes. The Devil's Tower, The Grand Canyon, Niagra Falls. There are some wicked cool landscapes in Europe, yet we've got them beat overall in that department. However, comparatively our sense of history is definitely a bit lacking; Whenever I'm in Paris, I visit the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower. When I'm in Munich I visit the Glockenspiel and the Hofbrauhaus. When I'm in Venice, I hang out in San Marco Piazza or visit Murano, the glass blower's island. And whenever I'm in Seattle, I visit the very first Starbucks shop.

And you know, I'm not the only one. Both times I've been there, that little place was packed with people taking photos and oohing and ahhing. It would be really sad except that I'm one of those people. I even picked up three bags of the exclusive Pike Place special reserve blend, a blend only sold at the Pike Place original location. Wait, maybe it's still pretty sad. Heeey guys, look over here, it's another shot of Mount Rainier!

Yes, well. See? Landscapes. That's what we have in America. We may not have a political, economic, or health care system that anyone anywhere in the universe respects right now, and not much history to speak of, but we've got landscapes.

Speaking of our poor economy, today was a weird day. In a way I'm happy that the bailout package did not go through. It's not right that the crooks on Wall Street should be allowed to get away with all their dirty dealings, and then have the taxpayers give them 750 billion bucks when they hit a rough patch. But, you know, the fact that the bailout didn't happen is bad bad bad for our economy, it's true. We are approaching the Great Depression II, and I think that if that happens, we are all going to find out first hand why your Grandparents and Great-Grandparents were such bitter, cautious people when it came to money. (Not my Grandparents though. They're great. I'm talking about your Grandparents.) I myself have lost a ton of money in the market. A TON. But I kind of had a bad feeling today so I cashed most of my stocks out this morning before the really big crash hit. Should've done that weeks ago. I guess what I'm trying to say is, now is a good time to listen to your tight-fisted elder relatives. Because really, I feel that the only hope we have of avoiding breadlines and 100 dollar cans of peaches is that this is all some sort of master plan to initiate the New World Order. Either way, you know, bad bad bad. Of course this could be the bottom, as bad as it gets. Maybe they're really trying to fix things after they, you know, screwed it up so abominably. Maybe they'll come up with a bailout, and it will fix things. But they're either utterly incompetent or evil, and neither scenario bodes well for us. Aw hell, when you get depressed and think that the people on the following YouTube might possibly represent the subconscious of America, you realize that we're all doomed anyway, and maybe we deserve to be.

Anyway, sorry. I digress. Here's a nice photo taken of some photo takers with a fishmonger on Pike Place. I added some other Mt. Rainier and Pike Place photos from this trip over at the smugmug gallery.

A Perfect New York Day, Gabba Gabba Hey.

“One belongs to New York instantly, one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years”
- Thomas Wolfe

I live about one hour to the west of NYC, and I haven't been there in like fifteen years. I've still never even been up to see the Statue of Liberty except one time when I was too young to remember; apparently my Pop Pop, who used to work in the City, took me there once. It's one of those traveling oddities. Germans that I knew from Bavaria had never been to Italy, which is only a few hours away by train, yet had been to the Statue of Liberty. I've been to Venice, Baghdad, and Moscow even, but it's been fifteen years since I spent any time in the greatest city in the world. I'd seen online that one of my favorite bands was playing the final show on their tour there on Saturday night, so Miss Luongo and I drove over there yesterday to have a perfect New York day.

Miss Luongo doesn't particularly enjoy concerts, so in order to bribe her into attending one with me, I had to promise that we'd see a Broadway show which is one of her favorite things to do in the City. We hit TKTS which sells discounted day-of-show tickets, and scored a sweet deal on Equus. I'd never seen it before, but it's one of Miss Luongo's favorite plays and she credits it with being an important force in her decision to become a writer. And, to top it all off, the cast consisted of Daniel Radcliff (Harry Potter), Richard Griffiths (Uncle Vernon Dursley), and Kate Mulgrew (Captain Janeway from Star Trek: Voyager)! I really enjoyed it. It's a very 70's sort of sexual psychodrama, but it holds up and I think having British leads really helped make it work. If you've ever seen it or heard about it, you know that the role of the boy calls for some nudity, so yes, we got to see Harry Potter's penis. But other than that tense moment it was quite enjoyable and it's nice to see a child actor grow up into a good actor and not yet another screwed up tabloid case. I was able to sneak a blurry picture of the set before the show got started, which I was reprimanded for. Sometimes getting in trouble for pictures is worth it, but on this one I'll have to say, eh. Those silver things are the horse heads which were donned by actors portraying some scary-ass horses during the show.

After the play we hit Little Italy for the street festival of San Genaro and got some awsome Italian food and Pinkberry, which is some sort of Asian frozen yogurt and awesome. Then we hit the Angelika, an independent movie theater and saw some wacky Woody Allen movie about love and it's myriad disappointments. And threesomes. Vicki Christina Barcelona. Go see it. Or not. Afterwards it was time to hit the concert at the Zipper Factory on 37th and 9th.

It was Dean & Britta again, and Spectrum opened for them. Spectrum is a band formed by Sonic Boom, singer from another legendary band that I love, Spacemen 3. My friend Scott turned me on to them a ways back and he used to say that they don't play their instruments better than anyone. This was definitely the case last night... Sonic Boom does this sort of trance-rock thing and he opened with a Spacemen 3 bit called 'Transparent Radiation' which made me very happy. Then he did a bunch of loud sonic-y things which weren't really songs and got progressively weirder until the final number which prompted Miss Luongo to uncork her ears long enough to tell me angrily that she thought he was basically saying "screw you" to the audience because nobody was even playing instruments by this point, he was just utilizing foot pedals and amps to produce massive amounts of feedback. Again, Spacemen 3 used to do this better than anybody, and Sonic Boom was in top form. I guess you have to know what you're getting into here otherwise it pretty much is just noise, but I really enjoyed it.

Dean & Britta were of course awesome. I don't need to go into how awesome they are all over again... I saw them in DC not too long ago and you can go read that one again if you want to know how awesome they still are. I did grab a copy of Dean Wareham's book after the show and had him autograph it. My friend Steph had originally wanted to join us to go see the show, but she had already read Dean's book and said that it sort of disappointed her to see what one of her favorite musicians was really like. She still might have gone, but she'd have had to take off work and her heart wasn't in it. I can't wait to read it. It sounds like it's going to be honest.

I got a nice shot of Britta grinning at me. We had the best seats! It was a terraced u-shaped theater going up, and the seats were all old discarded minivan seats. A very nice and comfortable way to enjoy New York shoegazer Rock.

And here they are, singing 'You Turn My Head Around' again. I love taking pictures of them during that song.

Here's four shots of their shoes that I cobbled together.

So yes, it was a perfect New York day. A broadway show, an Italian streetfest, a Woody Allen film, and quintessential New York shoegazer icons. Some things are just worth saving up for. We didn't make it to the Statue of Liberty, but that's really ok. I'll make it there one day and then I'll be like, "Huh. I wonder what the people who declared that this gift of friendship to us from the French should symbolize Liberty and Freedom would think of how far we've come from those heady days of hope."

The Anti-Elvis Says, Abeo, Las Vegas, Abeo!

*My pictures from Las Vegas are up over on my smugmug page.

Sometimes my work sends me to some pretty cool places which is what I love about the job, enjoying travel as I do, and for the most part travel in the US is not something I'd likely do much of on my own. My very first assignment with my company was to Wyoming, where I was able to squeeze in enough time to see the Devil's Tower, Yellowstone Park, Mt. Rushmore, and Deadwood. That was cool. Or the time I went to Florida and got to do all of the awesome NASA stuff. There's loads of others. It's been a fun year. But there's a backside to the cool travel, which is all of the not so great places they've sent me to. Virginia a few times, Maryland (Which was cool the first time because I got to check out DC but once is enough) and I spent a night in Philly a few weeks ago. Philly is actually a cool city though, and had I been able to treat it as a new place and take lots of pictures, I'd have had a good travelogue about it. But I lived there for a while (blogged about that once way back) and I've spent lots of time there anyway over the years, so it was hard to really get into it. Had a cheesesteak on South Street and ice cream in the Old Town.

Anyway, this isn't about Philly. The latest place I got sent to for work is one of those places I NEVER would have chosen to go to on my own, and while it's a place I'm glad enough to tick off my checklist, still, ugh. Las Vegas. For three nights. I know right? Can you imagine a worse place? You might think I'm being sarcastic, but mostly I'm not. I don't like to gamble (except for in the stock market) because I always lose (that's true in the stocks too, unfortunately) and I don't find it to be a fun way to pass the time. I don't like all that fake fun and I resent the way they try to overwhelm you with bright blinky blinky lights, loud noises, big outrageous buildings, and the doodley-doodley-doo sound of a kajillion slot machines begging me to lose twenty dollars, just one little twenty dollar bill, on a little obsessive compulsive fun. I resent having to see the pathetic old sallow people staring slackjawed at a slot machine with a cigarette falling off their pale lips and six or seven tumblers that once held whiskey or vodka. Often, they haven't shaved or cleaned themselves in like a week and it doesn't look like the unshaven laziness of a holiday, it looks like the unshaven look of a man who hates his crappy job and his stupid life.

But ok I'm done complaining now because despite the ridiculousness of Las Vegas, I did in fact manage to enjoy myself. Mostly by getting out of the city. I took a morning trip down to the Hoover Dam and I have to say, it's dam cool. Yuk yuk I totally just made that joke up. But in reality, I wasn't prepared to be quite as wowed by it as I was. Of all the places I've traveled and of all of the man-made wonders I've gotten to see, other than the particle accelerator at CERN in Switzerland, it's the most incredible feat of engineering I've ever seen.

I won't waste your time with descriptions of it that are better written on wikipedia, but suffice it to say it was a massive undertaking to divert the Colorado River and build what is actually a system of capturing energy using enough concrete to cover Pennsylvania with a four foot layer, and standing there looking at it really brings home what that must have taken, and how cool it is that people can do things like that. It also made me think about possible engineering feats of the future as I talked about a few posts back, and it gave me hope that if we ever put our minds to it, we can still accomplish great things for humanity. I mean, not to get too dramatic, but the immensity of Hoover Dam readily inspires such philosophical musings. Here's an upper canyon shot.

And here's a shot of the topside as the Colorado river gets dammed. You can also see here from the waterline how low the water is this year.

 

I also went on a helicopter ride over the canyon and got a few nice aerial shots. So, you know, here's one.

The helicopter ride was super fun. It was really windy out and we were getting buffeted all over. I love helicopters... this was my second time in one. My first time was a 45 minute ride in a Blackhawk from Baghdad to Balad, Iraq and then back for work, which was much more fun and exciting than this one, so you know, it was easy to remain calm and enjoy a few Photo ops here.

The rest of my time in Vegas was spent on the strip. One evening I walked from the Luxor hotel where I was staying (the one shaped like a Pyramid) all the way up to Fremont Street, where the main strip of Vegas was in the old days. I discovered quite a few things along the way. For instance, Prostitution is legal in Vegas. Didn't know that; I thought that was only at that Ranch out in the desert somewhere. But in fact, they have Girl Delivery trucks that bring ladies of the night right to your hotel room. Think about that for a minute. Girl Delivery Trucks.

Talk about Human Trafficking. Icky. I also discovered that most of the Vegas strip is constantly under construction. They're always tearing down old casinos and building newer, more insane ones. A cab driver told me that they do that because that's the best way to get people to come back. Regular Vegas goers get bored of the same old places, so they constantly have to be getting rid of the out-of-fashion casinos and re-sucking in the crowds with new attractions. It's amazing to me. It's like you know, upgrading your laptop, because your old one is from like 2003 and hopelessly slow and out of date. But in this case it's a city upgrading entire blocks of casinos. Wasteful, shocking, depressing, and impressive all at once.

I stopped in at The Bellagio on Miss Luongo's suggestion to see the Dale Chihuly sculptured glass ceiling, and I gotta say, it's pretty damn cool. Very impressive and beautiful. Here's three different views of it.

I have to say though that my favorite part of the Vegas strip was in fact the oldest part, Fremont Street. It's where all the old legendary cool stuff happened in the early days of the city, but really I could care less about that. The problem with the main strip of Vegas is that it's a maze of insanity. Ridiculously oversized buildings that they make you walk through at every opportunity. Countless escalators and moving walkways for the terminally lazy escort you from casino to casino, letting you outside for a glimpse of the streets only grudgingly. And it can be difficult to find the exits of those places, because really they don't want you not stopping for a quick slot machine loss. Doodley-doodley-doo, doodley-doodley-doo, doodley-doodley-doo, doodley-doodley-FREAKIN' DOO!!! So what's nice about Fremont street is that when you finally make it there, it actually takes on the feeling you often get in the old part of a European city. All quaint and small and relaxed. Relatively speaking, of course. They apparently did some revitalization there a few years back, and made it a covered street, although in pure Vegas style; the cover is a huge arched video screen stretching for like four or five city blocks long which plays loud stuff periodically, such as a Queen montage that assaulted my senses while I was there.

Plus you know, tons of other noise and blinky blinky lights, but compared to the monstrosity of the main strip casinos, it was quite tolerable. And it was a pedestrian only street which was very nice because at last you could just sort of meander in a straight line amidst a crowd of fun seekers with out having to think too much about how to get to the next point on the strip. And my favorite part were of course the religious proselytizers. They're always good for a shot or three. This guy seems a bit like he's involved in a lost cause, huh?

So if you're the religious type, you might think that this guy is being brave, a real witness for the lord, right? I mean, he was arrested for sharing God's word! (Even though it's obvious that he's not telling the whole story. People don't tend to get arrested for simply sharing God's word. My guess is he was doing something invasive while sharing God's word, such as blowing up an abortion clinic to kill an abortionist or some such. Just a guess.) Well, if you still think that after reading the back of his sign, we need to have words.

And here's another great one. And you can see the video screen cover over the street here that I was talking about.

So now I can say that I've been to Vegas, and I never ever need to go back. Whew.

A Dream Of Germany And All Points Nostalgia. Ugh.

I had a dream the other night which, when I woke up, left me with that bittersweet feeling of joy and loss that only dreams can evoke. Not to sound gay or anything. But it was a pretty simple dream; I was in a hallway, and people started arriving. They were people I'd known from Germany. More and more showed up until we formed a very crowded circle in the hall there, and everybody was chattering away, laughing, telling old stories and old jokes from our time at Chiemsee. Nothing can be as nice and comforting as an old joke retold between friends you haven't seen in years. Like the time Bailey caused Deutsche Bahn to cancel the 11:10pm train route from Munich to Bernau because he got a bit too toasty and kicked out a train window, uh, accidentally. Disco night at the Windjammer.

Or when a rogue storm came up on the lake during a sailing class that Danielle and I were in together, capsizing our sailboat, losing my glasses to the bottom of the Chiemsee while trying to right it. Or Nimmer catching the train by his teeth as it was pulling out of the station during an unscheduled church points stop at 2am. Or Scott... well, he wouldn't want me to tell that story. But it's a funny story. Seth playing Frogger on the autobahn. Dirk tying a kite to his rear bumper, lighting it on fire and going for a ride on the hotel strasse, then waking up the next morning cuddled contentedly next to Josh in the Summerhaus kitchen. Dirk, Josh, Lauren, Dave & I seeing Foetus in Salzburg and getting locked out of the car, then driving up to Dirk's Dad's historical German hunting lodge for a weekend of too much rich food and cappuccinos, causing unspeakable trouble in my bowels. Dumpster diving. Charlie's. The Bernauer Stuben. Krampus fest. Al Harms! Bus Olympics. Absinthe parties after Absinthe runs to Czesky Krumlov. What was Matt's roomate's name who Scott made up all those stories about? Windjammer Halloween parties. "Stealing" the maypole from the Badehaus. Radlers on the German beach. That last summer on the dive shop dock. Volleyball Tuesday. Singing The Yellow Submarine in German. Rosenheim. Munich. The Bernau Bahnhof.

Anyway, I could go on and on, each one of those memories spawning a hundred more. Forgive me; wistfully reminiscing about Chiemsee is a pathological pastime for those of us who were there, annoying and boring on a regular basis our friends who were not. Suffice it to say it was a bittersweet dream, laughing with old friends whom I'll never see all together in one room again. I spent three years in Chiemsee, but I also spent three years in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, a ski town near the Austrian border in the Alps. Garmisch tends to take back seat in my memories of Germany, as it was so much longer ago and the dynamic at Chiemsee during the final year of its operation was rather show-stealing. But coinciding with my dream, a good friend of mine, Marc, from the Garmisch days recently got back from a vacation with his wife whom he'd met there to revisit our old stomping grounds. He posted some pictures on his Facebook page from the trip and I of course found myself looking through them with a renewed sense of old days gone. He has loads of great pictures of our favorite German food and beer. Nostalgia, that's the word. Yuck. I had had a really great time there as well, and I think that it is perhaps one of the most beautiful spots in the world.

Marc reminded me of a historic night on the town. On the week prior to the night in question, we had been at the Santa Fe, otherwise known as the local American Bar. When the Santa Fe closes, there's only one other bar that stays open later (Well, except for the Evergreen, but that's another story) named Peaches. It's a horrid place. Fruity girl drinks and obnoxious party beat music. But at 3am, all pretense of discernment tends to fade. So we walked over, and the doorman wouldn't let me in. It was rather unbelievable for a bar that catered to the 3am crowd. He said my pants were too baggy; he thought I looked like a snowboarder. And I was a snowboarder in fact, but so what? He said, in middling English, that they'd had trouble with my kind. "They, they come in here and cause trouble and drink too much and, and they snowboard," as though it were an unspeakable crime. Weird, right? So I glumly turned around and went home, while Marc & Lenny got inside. The next week, for whatever reason, they let me in. I was dressed the same, I had actually gone snowboarding that day. It was ironically funny, but I was bitter. Last week had been inglorious. I felt wronged. Marc was retelling the story to Lenny, Sabino, and Rio. They laughed, the flavor of wormwood remained with me. I had never caused trouble, I was not one of "those" snowboarders. I had never come to this bar and... snowboarded... I cheered up. I wasn't thinking clearly, but I was thinking.

If I'm going to be accused of sinning, I might as well sin, right? I happened to have my snowboard strapped to the roof of my car right outside, having in fact, as I said, gone snowboarding that day. I ran outside to my car. The same doorman who had not let me in previously, but had inconsistently decided that I was okay on this night was working. I told him I'd be right back. No problem. I grabbed my snowboard and ran in. He didn't try to stop me from bringing my snowboard in, I think he was too confused. Perhaps the hand of God restrained him. In the back of the bar where we were seated, we were on a raised platform table with two or three stairs leading down to the main floor. Here, Marc took a picture of the very spot on his recent trip:

I strapped on my snowboard, gave a drunken rebel yell, and snowboarded down the stairs. Now Mr. Bouncer, you won't be lying next time when you say that snowboarders; "They, they come in here and cause trouble and drink too much and, and they snowboard."

Of course, the joke was really on me because I scraped the crap out of my nice new snowboard on those granite stairs and I had to pay a sweet 50 Deutsche Marks to get it re-waxed. But you know, in the annals of Drunken revelry, score one for me and the snowboarders.

The Stars At Night, Are Occasionally Big And Bright...

"Brain: an apparatus with which we think we think."
-Ambrose Bierce

Ahhhhh... The smell of Texas hick in the morning. I'm in the Dallas-Fort Worth area for work this week. There is nothing cool about this trip. No pictures, no wry observations. Except for the smelly Texan hick I got stuck in the elevator with this morning, and there ain't nothin' wry about that. The smell is quite similar to Pennsylvanian hick, actually. You'd think, you know, different States, different hicks, different smells. But hick pretty much smells the same all over I guess. The one exciting thing I did was take a drive down to Waco, Texas. There really wasn't much there though. I got a coffee. Turned around came back.

So I spent the little free time I've had this week at the movie theater just a few blocks up from where I'm staying. I saw The Dark Knight. Twice. I think it's the best superhero movie yet. In fact, it might be a work of film art. Heath Ledger of course was amazing, but even more amazingly, he didn't entirely steal the show. (Though his performance should make Jack Nicholson feel ashamed of his inadequacy as an actor) Everything in the movie was absolutely perfect. The worst that can be said about it is that some of the action was so busy and parts of the plot so byzantine, that if you weren't paying attention, you may have to watch it a second time. But what I really love about it is that it is an ensemble piece... Batman didn't get any more screen time than anyone else, and the most pivotal role in the movie didn't really even belong to him, and it was still exciting as hell. (I'd say the most pivotal role was Aaron Eckhart's, whom I was glad to see in such a good role. Been a fan of his since In The Company Of Men.) Christopher Nolan gave all of his characters an important piece of the story, and allowed all of them a chance to play themselves out. It's the first superhero movie I've seen that can correctly have the adjective "epic" be applied to it.

Anyway, sorry. I know that nobody comes here to read pop film reviews. I'm just indulging myself in a gush. And, you know, I've got nothing else to talk about, yet my habits dictate that after being away on a work trip, I must post about it. So, movies I saw in Arlington, Texas is my theme. Hancock. Stupid. REALLY stupid. It started off fairly intriguing. But it was like the screenwriter or director or whoever had had a neat idea for a superhero movie, got partway through the script, but then realized that he didn't have an actual creative bone in his body nor had he ever actually read a comic book, and pulled something stupid out of his butt and plopped it in the theater. X-Files. Yeah. Not actually a bad movie... if Mulder and Scully were supposed to be characters in a mature adult romantic detective novel. It was more Moonlighting, the later years, than X-Files. And really, after waiting like 10 years after the end of the series to make a movie, you'd think that X-Files fans would deserve some answers, or at least more plot development on the Alien theme. But, nope. Chris Carter doesn't think so. Wanker.

MILD SPOILER ALERTS THIS PARAGRAPH:
But the most disturbing thing about all three of these movies was the children. None of these movies were appropriate for very young children. There were 4 year olds, infants even, that parents had brought to the theater. Severed arms, Hancock shoves a guy's head up another man's butt, horrifically scarred man holds a young boy hostage... all kinds of potentially scarring moments on a young person's psyche. Plus, young kids are noisy and it's just rude to the other moviegoers. I mean, what are parents thinking? This kind of stuff can scare the crap out of kids in their dreams for years. I speak from experience... I inadvertently saw a Monty Python sketch one time on TV when I was very young which gave me the screaming willies for years. Monty Python. Imagine what seeing a psychopathic clown put someone's eye out with a pencil would've done. There was a preview for a horror movie... there were some pretty horrific images loud and proud on the screen. Blood, disfigurement, bizarre imagery... you know the kind of thing pop horror fans are into these days. There was a very young boy nearby, staring in horrified awe, and his father was laughing his ass off. Laughing at mutilation. What the F*** is wrong with people?

Ok ok... sometimes scaring the crap out of children is funny, but still. Not always.

Cape Cod Is So Pretty That I'm About To Choke You With Pictures

So I went to Cape Cod last week for a nice relaxing vacation from my stressful job. You know, I had to get away from all that constant work travel. Right. That's a picture of me and a hermit crab during low tide in Provincetown. Anyway, my family on my Dad's side is from the Cape. My Grandfather owned a grocery store in Osterville until it burned down and then afterwards moved to Cedarville, which is right by the Cape Canal. I have many hazy and fond memories of visiting Cedarville as a kid, including Christmas Eves with my cousin Karen gleefully listening for Santa on the roof and lazy Summer days at the lake down the road. At the time, we lived in New England ourselves, in Connecticut in the really early days, and in Brockton, Massachusetts for several of the later years. In fact, until we moved to PA, I sported that thick Massachusetts accent in which 'R's are ignored if not dropped entirely, and Pee Wee's Big Adventure was a wicked awesome movie. Sadly, I lost it pretty quick after moving to Ligonier, PA, where I had to learn to wrap my tongue around such western PA oddities as 'Y'uns' and pierogies... ah, the lost treasures of our youth.

So anyway, it was really nice to drive up the cape... Eastern Massachusetts has that incredible mix of smells of cedar pine and sea salty air blown in from the ocean. There is some truly invigorating air there. I stopped at Plymouth and saw the Mayflower! Well, the Mayflower II, actually. It's a replica, but a really good one.

Right around the corner from the Mayflower II was Plymouth Rock, but I didn't get to see it because they were renovating it. Yes, you read correctly; they're renovating a ROCK. Sheesh. I did see the rock as a child at least, but it's as hazy as all my other memories. Probably because it's just a rock and not actually particularly interesting. But I did get a picture of a nice Asian family who had come all the way to see it and were similarly disappointed yet determined to come away with something:

The worst part is, the Pilgrims didn't actually even land here first. They first arrived in Provincetown, and got into some skirmishes with Indians. So they upped anchor and made for Plymouth instead.

Apropos of not much, I snapped this shot of a screaming hawk not far outside of Plymouth:

I also took a drive through Cedarville and tripped out when I found the street my Grandparents used to live on... thanks to a call to Dad to help me out with directions. Everything is exactly as I remember it, only it's gotten smaller. The lake beach that I used to play on, which was enormous when I was six, seemed rather cramped this time around. I also took a drive through Osterville after crossing over onto the Cape; and although I never really was there much, it was nice to see where we came from, and where I'd probably be living had Williams' Grocery Store never burned down. Ah, the lost alternate realities of our youths.

Here's a sea snail, trolling about under water during low tide.

At any rate, I spent the majority of my time on the Cape in Provincetown... turns out, it's somewhat of a Gay Haven up there. Didn't know that when I booked my hotel... ah well. I figured it out when I got up my first morning there to go get some food at a nearby bakery, which turned out to be a Gaykery. They had teddy bear cookies decorated with icing leather chaps and candy button nipple clamps. Of course, I didn't notice that right off, I was just feeling like Provincetown was a very nice place, and everybody was so friendly and the large bearded man that seemed to run the shop gave me a free container of cherries to go with my food and I was thinking, "Wicked awesome! What a friendly place! Everybody here seems happy and genuinely nice! Is that supposed to be two guy teddy bear cookies?! Holding hands...? Oh..."

Well, suffice it to say that during my two day stay there, I received more attention than I generally feel comfortable with from men, but about the same amount as usual from women, which is to say, very little. But it's a thoroughly enjoyable town nonetheless. It's an odd mash-up of things: An old fishing and whaling village on the most venerable area of land in the US, which also has quite a history of participation in the Arts. Here's a harbor picture of the town:

I got this picture on the way in from going out on a Whale Watch. I had gone on a Whale Watch with my family many years ago when I was really young, but this is one of those times where it was even better than my childhood memory of it. I'm going to show you too many pictures of whales now.

Totally sweet. It was like we hit the motherload of whale towns.They were jumping and bouncing around all over the place. In fact, for those of you not too sick of whales by now, I took a video. I apologize in advance for it though; There was so much going on, and I kept trying to move the camera to catch stuff and the boat was rocking quite a bit, so that in essence I wound up missing a lot. Sorry. But there are still one or two good things to see here:

It was the 'Sunset Whale Watch', which meant that we came back in to town in the evening, allowing for a few gratuitous Cape Cod shots. This is the actual very tippiest tip of the Cape itself.

And here's another shot I like of Provincetown. The tall thing there is the Pilgrim monument. I believe that the residents like it so much because of the Phallusy of the thing.

And that's pretty much it. I mean, I spent some time on the beach, but even in June the Cape Cod water is BRRRRRR Cold! I braved it for a little while, and you do get acclimated to the frigid temperature after a bit, but even so. I did see a seal having lunch from a school of fish right off of the shore... that was pretty cool. You don't see that too often off of other beach towns. The big dark spot is the school of fish, and that's a seal head poking up there.

And here's my parting shot; the wake of the Whale Watch.

**I've uploaded the rest of the pictures from this trip over on my smugmug site in two new galleries; Plymouth, Massachusetts, USA, and Provincetown, Massachusetts, USA. Also, I uploaded a bunch of Frank Lloyd Wright pictures in my Chicago, Illinois, USA gallery which I'd inexplicably forgotten to add before.

Doctor, Will You Tell These Fools? I'm Not Crazy. Make Them Listen To Me Before It's Too Late!

Ambulance Driver: We had to dig him out from under the most peculiar things I ever saw.

Dr. Hill: What things?

Ambulance Driver: Well, I don't know what they are, I never saw them before. They looked like great big seed pods.

Dr. Hill: Where was the truck coming from?

Ambulance Driver: [King George, VA].

Dr. Hill: Get on your radios and sound an all points alarm. Block all highways, stop all traffic, and call every law enforcement agency in the state. [on phone] Operator, get me the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Yes, it's an emergency!

             -Invasion of the Body Snatchers

So I just got back from an overnight job down in Virginia. It was a job from hell too... definitely payback for all those more exotic locales where I usually get to play in for a week or two. I left on Thursday morning at around 9, drove for five hours and then went right to work when I got there. It turned out to be one of those times where Murphy's Law was pumping iron and needed the good steroids. So what should have been two, maybe three hours worth of work setting up the next day's exam turned into ten. I didn't get to my hotel room until 12 pm, and I still had my administrative duties to attend, so I didn't get to bed until around 3 am. I of course had to wake up three and a half hours later to go back in to work to administer the exam. I got done with that, packed up all the equipment and got on the road by 2:00pm, hitting Philadelphia rush hour on the turnpike right around 5pm. Meanwhile, it was 90 degrees outside and my car's A/C was broke.

Despite all of this travail, I have made it home to report that I don't believe that Virginia really exists. I don't mean that there is not a US State that goes by the name of Virginia; What I mean is that it's a made up place. Like that playground in the first X-Files movie; the one that the secret shadowy people put up really fast in order to cover their tracks and make the site of their latest machinations look like it was an ordinary place. I've been down there a couple of times now, and that's always my impression of it. As you first enter Virginia via route 301, you immediately pass a Naval Warfare base. Everything is covered by trees, even scrapyards and auto places. In fact, all you really see are signs for scrap yards and auto places, and dirt roads leading to these supposed places of business

And the people... I almost didn't notice it at first, as I'm somewhat dismissive of the general human populace, but especially the American human populace. However I had to deal with some of the locals, and they had this peculiar trait of being curious about people from other places, as though there were any difference between a Virginian and a Pennsylvanian general populatory. (I think I just made that word up, by the way. It's supposed to connotate a member of the general populace, leaving out any indicator of an individual nature) But when some of the people found out I wasn't from the area, they'd get all questiony, rather like drunk college girls do to young men with British or Italian accents. It was strange and unsettling and brought home to me the fact that Americans in general don't get out enough. Also, they all work for the Government in one capacity or another down there. My job, in fact, was at a government contractor's site; one of those civilian weapon systems designer companies. They all have Secret or Top Secret clearance, and they tend to walk around with shrewd looks in their eyes, whether or not any of them have any call to look that way. People who think they're shrewd tend to don that glance, (like that stupid woman in that commercial who suggests going to Chili's for lunch as though it were an idea on par with the Grand Unified Field Theory) and people who are tend to hide it. Also, a large percentage of them are overweight in that way that only "poor" Americans can pull off. On the whole, it's a very unsettling package.

So due to all of this, my gut feeling is that Virginia is a place where the government hides it's pod people, poorly disguised as typical Americans, and that if there are any Virginians who are not pod people they just don't notice it because they're used to it and are in fact becoming assimilated. I see this as the future for the rest of America. I mean, obviously it's a national trend that's well under way, but I think it's something that as a social construct which covers an entire area, it's actually already complete down there. Freaky.