The breeze made flying hard work, and the humans were stingy with their lunch offerings, so most of the sea gulls chose to hunker down on the sand and contemplate love, loss, and the beauty of a summer afternoon in the mountains.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Contemplative Sea Gulls At Lake Tahoe
The breeze made flying hard work, and the humans were stingy with their lunch offerings, so most of the sea gulls chose to hunker down on the sand and contemplate love, loss, and the beauty of a summer afternoon in the mountains.
Second Annual Day Trip To Lake Tahoe
Left: Descent into the Tahoe Valley.It's the last weekend of August, which means it's time for the second annual day trip to Lake Tahoe!
Left: Nevada Beach at Lake Tahoe.Last year, it was hot and calm. This year, it was warm, with a stiff breeze whipping up the whitecaps.
Left: Color variation reveals where the shallow water ends and the deep water starts.I waded in up to my waist. I think the water was warmer this year, with lake level a bit lower. The breeze made the experience very invigorating!
Left: Nevada Beach.
Left: The breeze made it a hard day to go windsurfing!
Left: The Tahoe Queen paddle boat is just visible on the left, in the distance.
Left: Shopping in South Lake Tahoe.
Left: Dining at the Stateline Brewery.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Boonieville
Antioch, California; Boonieville:
Dawn Cordy always knew her neighborhood was an easy place to hide -- a semi-rural San Francisco suburb where housing is cheap, sheriff's cruisers rarely appear, residents don't snoop and registered sex offenders have found a refuge.
It's a small, scruffy, unincorporated island largely surrounded by the hard-knock city of Antioch, a region synonymous with the foreclosure crisis in the Bay Area but now linked to yet another outrage.
This is where Phillip Garrido, who was charged last week with rape and kidnapping, allegedly held Jaycee Lee Dugard for 18 years and fathered her two children in a warren of tents and soundproofed outbuildings behind his gray cinder-block house on Walnut Avenue.
Garrido's and Cordy's 94509 ZIP Code is home to more than 100 registered sex offenders, according to the Megan's Law website, and officials say the region has a higher concentration of offenders than other areas.
At least four sex offenders, including Garrido, live within easy walking distance of Cordy's house; they move to the area "because they can," said Cordy, 52. "We're mostly an older bunch, and we don't pay that much attention. This is Boonieville."
Grim Highway 49 Fire In Auburn
Very worrisome:
A 275-acre wildland fire burning in North Auburn closed part of Highway 49 and was burning structures and threatening other commercial and residential buildings Sunday afternoon.
Mandatory evacuations were also ordered for several Auburn neighborhoods.
Those neighborhoods include Saddleback Estates and the areas of Virginia and Stanley roads in Christian Valley, according to Dena Erwin, Placer County Sheriff’s spokeswoman.
Erwin added that residents of at least three subdivisions off Dry Creek Road, including Windsong Park and Greenstone, were also ordered to leave their homes.
...Martha Garcia, editor of the Loomis News, who was visiting the Dry Creek Road area Sunday afternoon, said she counted at least 12 houses destroyed in the North Park subdivision.
Jimena May Be Aiming For Drought-Stricken Arizona
Current forecasts suggest that the remnants of Hurricane Jimena will cross Arizona starting Thursday evening Sept. 3rd, and not fully leave the state until Monday evening Sept. 7th.
The NOGAPS model currently suggests the center of the storm will travel a beeline from Ajo to Lake Powell. I hope that forecast holds, because central and western Arizona have suffered from this year's sputtering monsoon, and could use the rain.
Every corner of the state is likely to feel the effect of the storm.
The NOGAPS model currently suggests the center of the storm will travel a beeline from Ajo to Lake Powell. I hope that forecast holds, because central and western Arizona have suffered from this year's sputtering monsoon, and could use the rain.
Every corner of the state is likely to feel the effect of the storm.
Predicting Stock Market Crashes
This sounds pretty simple in summary. So why don't people do it all the time?:
Their model, which employs concepts from the physics of complex atomic systems, was developed by Didier Sornette of the Financial Crisis Observatory in Zurich, Switzerland, and Wei-Xing Zhou of the East China University of Science and Technology in Shanghai. The idea is that if a plot of the logarithm of the market's value over time deviates upwards from a straight line, it's a clear warning that people are investing simply because the market is rising rather than paying heed to the intrinsic worth of companies. By projecting the trend, the team can predict when growth will become unsustainable and the market will crash.
Sornette, Zhou and colleagues applied their model to the Shanghai Composite Index, which tracks the combined worth of all companies listed on the Shanghai Stock Exchange, the world's second largest. Early this year, the index gained 50 per cent in just four months. In July, the team predicted that the index would start to fall sharply by 10 August (www.arxiv.org/abs/0907.1827). The index duly began to slide on 4 August, falling almost 20 per cent in the subsequent two weeks.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Obese Brains
I'd like to vigorously respond to this vicious slander, but that would require both planning and memory, and I'm too busy with this candy bar just now:
A new study finds obese people have 8 percent less brain tissue than normal-weight individuals. Their brains look 16 years older than the brains of lean individuals, researchers said today.
Those classified as overweight have 4 percent less brain tissue and their brains appear to have aged prematurely by 8 years.
The results, based on brain scans of 94 people in their 70s, represent "severe brain degeneration," said Paul Thompson, senior author of the study and a UCLA professor of neurology.
"That's a big loss of tissue and it depletes your cognitive reserves, putting you at much greater risk of Alzheimer's and other diseases that attack the brain," said Thompson. "But you can greatly reduce your risk for Alzheimer's, if you can eat healthily and keep your weight under control."
The findings are detailed in the online edition of the journal Human Brain Mapping.
...Obese people had lost brain tissue in the frontal and temporal lobes, areas of the brain critical for planning and memory, and in the anterior cingulate gyrus (attention and executive functions), hippocampus (long-term memory) and basal ganglia (movement), the researchers said in a statement today. Overweight people showed brain loss in the basal ganglia, the corona radiata, white matter comprised of axons, and the parietal lobe (sensory lobe).
Chiggy Wiggy
I always figured Kylie would fit well with Bollywood, but this seems a little strange to me.
Rapidly-Strengthening Hurricane Jimena
The long-range forecasts are showing rapidly-strengthening Hurricane Jimena will move up the west coast of Baja California and in a week disintegrate in such a way that the moisture could flow into SE Arizona and cause rains there. We’ll have to keep an eye on it!
Friday, August 28, 2009
Excerpts From DMTC's Recent "The Music Man"
Laura was kind enough to pop 21 excerpts from DMTC's recent production of "The Music Man" up on YouTube.
"Rock Island": The Music's Man's opening
Charlie Cowell (aka myself) woos Marian The Librarian from 4:54 to 6:19....
"Rock Island": The Music's Man's opening
Charlie Cowell (aka myself) woos Marian The Librarian from 4:54 to 6:19....
Modern Media's Logical Conclusion
Looks like I missed some interesting news stories while I was out.
Where this man leads, others will follow:
Where this man leads, others will follow:
Police have accused a TV presenter in Brazil of being involved in organised drug trafficking and ordering killings to get rid of rivals and boost ratings.
Wallace Souza, who is also a state legislator, says the claims are an attempt by rivals to smear him and that there is no evidence to back them.
But the police say he ordered killings in the state of Amazonas and alerted TV crews to get them to the scene first.
His TV show was halted late last year as police stepped up their inquiry.
Wizard of Oz/Dark Side of the Moon, 2 of 6
Interesting series of videos:
Somebody discovered that if you listen to The Dark Side of the Moon while watching The Wizard of Oz you'll see some interesting if not incredible coincidences.Number 2 and Number 5 in the series seem the best.
And who says the Stoners of the Seventies wouldn't come up with something, eventually, if they would just apply themselves?
(I know, monkeys with typewriters, monkeys with typewriters....)
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Thursday Tasks
Thursday morning, I went through my wardrobe and gathered clothes for Goodwill. I will have to dispatch even more clothes to make room for my Dad's clothes coming in! It felt good to haul all that stuff to Goodwill.
Persia came over to pick up stored boxes, but she could find only one box of interest (plus a painting her grandmother had once painted of her mother). I've been encouraging Helga to pick up her stored boxes, but she's been saddled wth caring for her ailing mother, and so that looks like a no-go for now.
I took some old dust-gatherers, like the the portable dishwasher that no one ever used, to the Sacramento Co. Refuse Transfer Station on Roseville Road, along with three chairs and other detritus. I threw two chairs away, but ultimately did not have the heart to throw the quality wooden rocking chair away (and people wonder where packrats come from).
Then, many tasks completed, I returned the gas guzzling U-Haul monster to its proper owners....
Folding my Dad's things into my own will require further materialistic heartbreak as I throw prized but defunct posessions away for good. The process will take two weeks, at least.
Persia came over to pick up stored boxes, but she could find only one box of interest (plus a painting her grandmother had once painted of her mother). I've been encouraging Helga to pick up her stored boxes, but she's been saddled wth caring for her ailing mother, and so that looks like a no-go for now.
I took some old dust-gatherers, like the the portable dishwasher that no one ever used, to the Sacramento Co. Refuse Transfer Station on Roseville Road, along with three chairs and other detritus. I threw two chairs away, but ultimately did not have the heart to throw the quality wooden rocking chair away (and people wonder where packrats come from).
Then, many tasks completed, I returned the gas guzzling U-Haul monster to its proper owners....
Folding my Dad's things into my own will require further materialistic heartbreak as I throw prized but defunct posessions away for good. The process will take two weeks, at least.
Empty Desert, Over The Sierras, And Sac-Town
Left: Looming mountains just west of Hawthorne, NV.
Left: West shore of Walker Lake, NV.
Left: Detail shows some birds enjoying Walker Lake's ambiance.
Left: Mountains along I-80 just east of Reno, NV.I preferred to depart from Highway 95 at Schurz, NV, as I usually do on the ABQ-to-SMF run, and head west towards South Lake Tahoe, but because I was driving a big U-Haul truck, I decided instead to go to Fallon, NV and reach I-80. Now that's a highway built for big trucks, and much wider than Highway 50, particularly around Echo Pass!
Unfortunately, I forgot that I-80 is under reconstruction these days, so the drive along I-80 was far more harrowing than anything Highway 50 could have thrown at me, being far faster and bumpier, and along lanes heart-stoppingly narrow (when traffic wasn't stopped altogether).
I only had one scare regarding the truck. On I-80 just east of Reno, while driving in the left lane, westbound, unbeknownst to me a small car sidled against the U-Haul's side and fit comfortably into the blind spot there. I signalled to make a lane change and started to make the movement, and was startled by the presence of the car. I suppose I should have checked the truck's mirrors more closely!
I reached Sacramento around 5:10 p.m. on Wednesday evening.
Competitive Aussie
Refueling at the Shell station in Tonopah, I encountered an Aussie fellow in his 30's. He inquired about the rental rates for U-Haul trucks, like the one I was driving. Referring to the car he was driving, he said "I thought I knew in advance what the charges would be for this, but there were more." I commiserated with him - there were extra charges for my truck too. Plus, three years ago, when I went down there, I had been surprised at the low rental rates for cars. Any American car rental rates would seem like a ripoff in comparison.
"We've been at Wendover, Utah, preparing to take the land-speed record from you Americans," he offered. "And did you?" I replied. "Oh, we will, we will," he stated.
So, this vehicle competition hasn't occurred yet! That would be an interesting event to see! And Aussies love competitions, and love winning them!
"I visited Australia three years ago - Brisbane," I said. "It's a bit of a shithole really," he observed. From inside the car a peal of laughter came from his woman companion. "But, you see, we're a bit biased. We're from Sydney, you see...." I nodded in mock solemnity and said "I understand!" He nodded back with a smile, got back in his car, and drove off....
"We've been at Wendover, Utah, preparing to take the land-speed record from you Americans," he offered. "And did you?" I replied. "Oh, we will, we will," he stated.
So, this vehicle competition hasn't occurred yet! That would be an interesting event to see! And Aussies love competitions, and love winning them!
"I visited Australia three years ago - Brisbane," I said. "It's a bit of a shithole really," he observed. From inside the car a peal of laughter came from his woman companion. "But, you see, we're a bit biased. We're from Sydney, you see...." I nodded in mock solemnity and said "I understand!" He nodded back with a smile, got back in his car, and drove off....
Overnight At Tonopah Station
Left: Looking east from Tonopah Station.Interesting place. One rambling building containing a hotel, a casino, a cafe, a DMV office, a church, a weight room, a fitness room, and any number of empty rooms yearning to be put to good use.
Left: I asked the Tonopah Station desk clerk what was the scoop on McDonalds. "I have an unhealthy fascination with the place," I added. She replied that the restaurant was under new management, and quickly added that the Station's own cafe could provide any food service I might need.
Left: "Unlawful To Abandon Animals"Sorry to say, but if you have to put up a sign, you have a real problem.
UFO Extravaganza
On a Tuesday evening, Highway 95 was not quite as bleak as first anticipated. For example, I saw a jackrabbit lope across the highway. In addition, I saw a coyote skulking by the roadside, and a mouse ran halfway across the road before thinking better of it, and ran back.
Entering the southern Nevada town of Beatty, I thought I heard breaking glass in my U-Haul rent-a-truck's load of furniture, so I stopped just to check things out. No problems: maybe someone broke a beer bottle at the roadside just as I passed by? At bit odd, that.
Traffic had been light, but leaving Beatty and heading north, the traffic all but vanished. Even the local traffic had disappeared. I was all alone in the night, half-listening to George Noory on the AM radio.
Suddenly to my left, I saw a light in the sky, heading south. The light looked like a very bright planet - like Venus - but in motion. I did a double-take, thinking it might have been a reflection in the driver's-side window of a stationary light located right of the truck, but that was not the case. Something was flying south through the air, not very high, and not very far away.
Just then, George Noory cut to a commercial. He promised his continuing listeners that after the break he would reward them with a "UFO Extravaganza".
A UFO Extravaganza! That's right! This is where UFOs gather! The Nevada Nuclear Test Site is just over those hills and Area 51 isn't really that far away!
It is quite plausible that the light belonged to a small private airplane. There is a small airport located just south of Beatty, equipped with flashing beacons for nighttime travelers, and the airborne light was heading in that direction.
But still, private planes are equipped with colored blinking lights for nighttime flight. This light was not blinking.
Ooooowwwwweeeeeeoooooo!
Entering the southern Nevada town of Beatty, I thought I heard breaking glass in my U-Haul rent-a-truck's load of furniture, so I stopped just to check things out. No problems: maybe someone broke a beer bottle at the roadside just as I passed by? At bit odd, that.
Traffic had been light, but leaving Beatty and heading north, the traffic all but vanished. Even the local traffic had disappeared. I was all alone in the night, half-listening to George Noory on the AM radio.
Suddenly to my left, I saw a light in the sky, heading south. The light looked like a very bright planet - like Venus - but in motion. I did a double-take, thinking it might have been a reflection in the driver's-side window of a stationary light located right of the truck, but that was not the case. Something was flying south through the air, not very high, and not very far away.
Just then, George Noory cut to a commercial. He promised his continuing listeners that after the break he would reward them with a "UFO Extravaganza".
A UFO Extravaganza! That's right! This is where UFOs gather! The Nevada Nuclear Test Site is just over those hills and Area 51 isn't really that far away!
It is quite plausible that the light belonged to a small private airplane. There is a small airport located just south of Beatty, equipped with flashing beacons for nighttime travelers, and the airborne light was heading in that direction.
But still, private planes are equipped with colored blinking lights for nighttime flight. This light was not blinking.
Ooooowwwwweeeeeeoooooo!
Drawn Like A Moth To Vegas
Left: Preparing to dive off the Colorado Plateau into the Colorado Desert.
Left: heading towards Laughlin, NV, and the mountains west of Kingman, AZ.
Left: Union Pass, and the vertiginous pediment leading to the Colorado River.
Left: Laughlin, NV.
Left: The waterfront at Laughlin.
Left: Academic excellence (or its equivalent) at UNLV.
Left: Heading west on Flamingo, towards the Strip.
Left: The Palms Hotel.
Left: The Rio.Brief visit to Vegas. Win at Gold Coast ($29.50) Loss at the Palms ($159.50). Net loss: $130.
By the end, even though it was 8:00 p.m. - a reasonable time and place to stay the night - I felt the place was very alluring and dangerous to one such as myself. I HAD to escape, so I fled alone into the night, across the desert.....
Overnight In Flagstaff
I stopped at one of the two Motel 6's on the eastern fringe of Flagstaff. For dinner, I tried to take an easy jaunt over to Outback Steakhouse, whose neon lights I had seen from the freeway, but the restaurant was farther away than I had realized - about six blocks along the curving frontage road. Still, it was worth the walk. Nice cuisine from Down Under!
In the morning, I went for a brief jog (trying to make the most of the high-altitude conditioning). Finding a good trail was hard. I struck across a No-Man's Land, and deeply alarmed some kind of whistling ground squirrel, or prairie dog, or ferret living in a set of railroad ties (whatever it was, it was not happy at my presence). I also alarmed some crows. I ended up on the property of some kind of active concrete batch plant. Exercise gained? Not that much, really, but lots of things to see.
Back at the motel room, the heartwarming movie "Babe" (about the pig who wished to be a sheepherding dog) was on TV. I was transfixed by the charming tale from Down Under (I hadn't seen it before). At the end of the movie, I was in tears.
It was interesting that I could cry for "Babe", yet still have not cried for my own father's passing. Maybe that's to come. Hard to say for sure.....
In the morning, I went for a brief jog (trying to make the most of the high-altitude conditioning). Finding a good trail was hard. I struck across a No-Man's Land, and deeply alarmed some kind of whistling ground squirrel, or prairie dog, or ferret living in a set of railroad ties (whatever it was, it was not happy at my presence). I also alarmed some crows. I ended up on the property of some kind of active concrete batch plant. Exercise gained? Not that much, really, but lots of things to see.
Back at the motel room, the heartwarming movie "Babe" (about the pig who wished to be a sheepherding dog) was on TV. I was transfixed by the charming tale from Down Under (I hadn't seen it before). At the end of the movie, I was in tears.
It was interesting that I could cry for "Babe", yet still have not cried for my own father's passing. Maybe that's to come. Hard to say for sure.....
West To Flagstaff
Left: While Arizona has been left largely dry this monsoon season, New mexico has been getting at least some tropical moisture. Here is a cumulonimbus cloud over Mt. Taylor, NM, as seen I-40 near San Fidel.
Left: Oh-so-pretty clouds, as seen from Gallup, NM.
Left: Starting the laborious westward climb from Winslow to Flagstaff, AZ.
Dinner At El Pinto
Left: Left to right, my cousins Anthony Valdez, Dr. Cynthia A. Valdez, MD, and Philip Valdez. This is the first time I've seen Phil since the early 90's!Phil could stay only ten minutes. He said he was moving from Minneapolis to NYC, but had to go to LA first to "drop a few things off". This explanation sounded utterly implausible, but he couldn't give more details, since he could spare only ten minutes....
Left: Family dinner at El Pinto. At the left is Bruce Warren, who arrived like the cavalry and helped us move a refrigerator and almost single-handedly loaded the U-Haul truck.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Heading Towards Completion
Left: "Sunset Over The Rio Grande" by Marcial Valdez.The tedious mobile home cleanup is heading towards completion. I'll probably take most of Sunday off, and hope to start the Sacramento U-Haul trip sometime on Monday.
"No Va" Means "It Doesn't Go"
I went jogging this morning along Second St. NW, reaching only as far as Ranchitos Rd. (Over the last few weeks I lost the altitude conditioning I had managed to gain last month. I sure am in sorry shape these days....)
Returning along Second St., I noticed a car wheeze and cough to a stop in the northbound right lane of the four-lane street. The traffic was fairly light - mid morning Saturday - but still, it was a terribly awkward place to come to rest. It's very much a part of New Mexico automotive tradition: low-income folks push their cars to the mechanical limit, and sometimes the vehicles come to rest in inconvenient places. So, I decided to offer my services to help push the car off the street - also, very much a part of New Mexico automotive tradition.
I stood politely aside as the driver - a fellow about age 25 - paced back and forth behind the stalled car and called several people for help. Cell phones are not a part of New Mexico's automotive tradition, of course - only 20 years old, or so, cell phones are a relatively new way of doing things. I noticed there were stickers in the rear window, and no plates. The driver had just bought this used car! How cruel! Now, mechanical betrayal is DEFINITELY a part of New Mexico automotive tradition!
As it transpired, though, the vehicle had not suffered a mechanical breakdown at all. Instead, the driver had failed to pay sufficient heed to his newly-purchased vehicle's fuel gauge, and the vehicle had simply run out of gas. Heedless driving is more a part of the California automotive tradition. New Mexico often follows the lead of California in many fields.
In the end, my services weren't needed after all. A friend of the driver was responding with alacrity and bringing much needed fuel to the scene. And so I politely excused myself, grateful for the much-needed innovation that cell phones represent in New Mexico's automotive tradition.
Returning along Second St., I noticed a car wheeze and cough to a stop in the northbound right lane of the four-lane street. The traffic was fairly light - mid morning Saturday - but still, it was a terribly awkward place to come to rest. It's very much a part of New Mexico automotive tradition: low-income folks push their cars to the mechanical limit, and sometimes the vehicles come to rest in inconvenient places. So, I decided to offer my services to help push the car off the street - also, very much a part of New Mexico automotive tradition.
I stood politely aside as the driver - a fellow about age 25 - paced back and forth behind the stalled car and called several people for help. Cell phones are not a part of New Mexico's automotive tradition, of course - only 20 years old, or so, cell phones are a relatively new way of doing things. I noticed there were stickers in the rear window, and no plates. The driver had just bought this used car! How cruel! Now, mechanical betrayal is DEFINITELY a part of New Mexico automotive tradition!
As it transpired, though, the vehicle had not suffered a mechanical breakdown at all. Instead, the driver had failed to pay sufficient heed to his newly-purchased vehicle's fuel gauge, and the vehicle had simply run out of gas. Heedless driving is more a part of the California automotive tradition. New Mexico often follows the lead of California in many fields.
In the end, my services weren't needed after all. A friend of the driver was responding with alacrity and bringing much needed fuel to the scene. And so I politely excused myself, grateful for the much-needed innovation that cell phones represent in New Mexico's automotive tradition.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Preparing To Sell The Mobile Home
(draft)
Looks like a roller coaster here - very optimistic one second; scrambling for options another second.....
Looks like a roller coaster here - very optimistic one second; scrambling for options another second.....
Dinner At Sadie's Restaurant
Left: Big meals at Sadie's, each accompanied with a slurry of cubed potatoes and pinto beans.And, of course, this is the restaurant Sadie's, not my Aunt Senaida's (aka Sadie's) home. Aunt Senaida couldn't be expected to cook for this many people without any advance notice....
Burial In Santa Fe
Left: Family gathers at the grave of Uncle Ramon and Aunt Arlene.
Left: Casket Cart at graveside.
Left: Casket Cart at graveside (close-up).
Left: Grave, minutes after interment.A military honor guard ceremony accompanies burial at the veteran's cemetery in Santa Fe. Just three guards, but their somber and funereal mien impressed me - impressed everyone - particularly when they removed the flag from the casket, folded it, and presented it to me as I sat in the 'red chair' (as chosen family representative), with grave words of thanks for my father's service. I thanked them on behalf of my family, and on behalf of his unit.
My father's casket was laid on top of my mother's casket, in the same grave. We saw another grave where a veteran was buried with two wives (That's impressive; caskets stacked three deep in the same grave. I wonder how many caskets they'll stack before balking? Three seems the maximum practicable....)
We also visited the graves of my aunt and uncle, and the grave of my childhood friend, Eddy Lewis, who died abruptly this spring....
Funeral Service For Marcial Valdez
Left: Family viewing. Michelle Browning, foreground. Background: Marc Valdez, Aaron Christopher Browning, and Marra Valdez-Newman (photo by Ken Newman).A very nice funeral service at French's Wyoming Blvd. location. They prepared a nice video tribute, using guitar music (particularly the familiar song "Canta No Llores"), and various photos we submitted. Kathy Thibadaux from Harmony Hospice sang "Amazing Grace" and Jeanne Franchi, also from Harmony, gave an inspirational address. I gave a brief history of my father's life, and read two poems my father asked to have read at his funeral service.
At the end, I asked if anyone wanted to say anything in my father's memory. No one did (it's kind of scary to just stand up and talk). So I told three stories about my Dad, or at least about growing up in semi-rural Corrales, NM:
- fighting a farmhouse fire in the dark;
- the day my mom made suntea; and,
- the bull in the living room.
Preparing To Officiate The Funeral Service
As the eldest son - the only son - I was tapped to officiate the funeral service. I prepared an informative and educational talk based on a blogpost about my father's military service; specifically his service in the 666th Field Artillery Battalion, and how these particular soldiers reconciled their service with the distinction of being labelled with the number of the Antichrist. The way these soldiers of the Greatest Generation handled the reconcilation process showed an unusual degree of sobriety and maturity that stands in stark contrast with the idiotic way we've handled our military affairs this decade.
My sister Michelle, who has been largely responsible for my father's affairs, took one look at what I was proposing and rejected it out-of-hand. "These people are looking for closure," she said. "They want the service to be about Dad. Most of the guests will be Catholics, and the rest of them will be evangelical Protestants, and you just can't throw around religious symbols at a funeral without causing trouble!"
She was right, of course. Officiating a funeral service is not the same thing as delivering a history lecture. So, uplift and remembrance it will be, with the speeches as brief and inspirational as possible.....
My sister Michelle, who has been largely responsible for my father's affairs, took one look at what I was proposing and rejected it out-of-hand. "These people are looking for closure," she said. "They want the service to be about Dad. Most of the guests will be Catholics, and the rest of them will be evangelical Protestants, and you just can't throw around religious symbols at a funeral without causing trouble!"
She was right, of course. Officiating a funeral service is not the same thing as delivering a history lecture. So, uplift and remembrance it will be, with the speeches as brief and inspirational as possible.....
Ditchbank Roadkill Update
Last month, while jogging, I noted how a cryptic mammal had perished on the ditchbank after crossing Second Street and getting struck. Ants were everywhere.
This month, the skull has been picked clean and sits separate from the rest of the luxurious pelt. The ants are gone - presumably they are finished.
This month, the skull has been picked clean and sits separate from the rest of the luxurious pelt. The ants are gone - presumably they are finished.
Apologies For Infrequent Posting
Help!
I'm barefoot and pregnant and living in the past in New Mexico! My sister has been entertaining out-of-town guests, and I can't easily get access to the Internet.
Help!
I'm barefoot and pregnant and living in the past in New Mexico! My sister has been entertaining out-of-town guests, and I can't easily get access to the Internet.
Help!
Stranded
Help!
I'm barefoot and pregnant and stranded in a trailer park in New Mexico. I do housework all day, and I do housework all night, every day of the week. Concerned neighbors hover in the distance, and I know they talk. I watch judge shows all day long, and Jerry Springer and Maury Povich for some color.
Help!
I'm barefoot and pregnant and stranded in a trailer park in New Mexico. I do housework all day, and I do housework all night, every day of the week. Concerned neighbors hover in the distance, and I know they talk. I watch judge shows all day long, and Jerry Springer and Maury Povich for some color.
Help!
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Disassembling A Household
Even small households like my father's require energy to take apart (almost like a black hole, albeit small). This will take time. One difficulty is that since there are three heirs, all three of us have to be present to make major decisions. That doesn't always happen. So, sometimes I have to be content with generalized cleanup duties, until we decide, for example, to keep my Dad's Listerine, or toss it, or give it to someone else.
Today (Monday) we were dividing up my Dad's clothes. I get some, of course, but not all (my paunch is bigger than his was). My nephew gets some, of course, but not all (a teenager's sense of style is different than a senior citizen's). Goodwill ultimately gets the rest, of course.
This afternoon, we took a break from our labors and played an old 45 rpm record that my Mom loved and she introduced to us children. It was an album of Tom Lehrer songs from the 1950's. We were raised with Lehrer's sardonic, sarcastic, insolent, and callow academic humor, and it was the greatest pleasure to introduce my 17-year-old nephew to great old songs like "The Old Dope Peddler". May these songs live on in the memory of his generation!
Life is sweet!
Today (Monday) we were dividing up my Dad's clothes. I get some, of course, but not all (my paunch is bigger than his was). My nephew gets some, of course, but not all (a teenager's sense of style is different than a senior citizen's). Goodwill ultimately gets the rest, of course.
This afternoon, we took a break from our labors and played an old 45 rpm record that my Mom loved and she introduced to us children. It was an album of Tom Lehrer songs from the 1950's. We were raised with Lehrer's sardonic, sarcastic, insolent, and callow academic humor, and it was the greatest pleasure to introduce my 17-year-old nephew to great old songs like "The Old Dope Peddler". May these songs live on in the memory of his generation!
Life is sweet!
Gazing Down The Dark, Howling Tube
Now, I'm sleeping alone in my father's mobile home. I sleep in the southern bedroom, at the opposite end from where my father died.
Being made of metal and fiberboard, the mobile home creaks a lot and makes lots of noise, 24/7. There is a slight leak in a toilet, and the resulting noises are enough to make one uncomfortable at night. Still, I turn off all the lights, and the only illumination comes from outside ambient street light. I keep the swamp cooler on, which makes the curtains near the swamp cooler wave in the breeze.
Since my father died, I feel that his spirit has actually departed from this mobile home. No one else is here. But at night, gazing from the southern bedroom's doorway through the darkened tube of the mobile home, listening to the howl of the swamp cooler fan, watching the ghostly curtains wave in the distance, and listening to any number of unexpected creaks and pops, it's enough to make you reconsider......
Being made of metal and fiberboard, the mobile home creaks a lot and makes lots of noise, 24/7. There is a slight leak in a toilet, and the resulting noises are enough to make one uncomfortable at night. Still, I turn off all the lights, and the only illumination comes from outside ambient street light. I keep the swamp cooler on, which makes the curtains near the swamp cooler wave in the breeze.
Since my father died, I feel that his spirit has actually departed from this mobile home. No one else is here. But at night, gazing from the southern bedroom's doorway through the darkened tube of the mobile home, listening to the howl of the swamp cooler fan, watching the ghostly curtains wave in the distance, and listening to any number of unexpected creaks and pops, it's enough to make you reconsider......
Bombing Us With Food
People have been very generous with food. The folks at Marra's church sent over lots of food. Two of my sister Michelle's neighbors have sent over food. My Dad's neighbors have sent over food. Michelle's former co-workers have sent over food.
When it looked like we were going to have a protracted struggle, the food was very welcome - even vital, given the drama underway. Now that the struggle has proven to be abbreviated, it's a bit of an over-eating opportunity.
Still, don't look a gift horse in the mouth! I thank them very much! People have been very kind!
When it looked like we were going to have a protracted struggle, the food was very welcome - even vital, given the drama underway. Now that the struggle has proven to be abbreviated, it's a bit of an over-eating opportunity.
Still, don't look a gift horse in the mouth! I thank them very much! People have been very kind!
Friday, August 14, 2009
Ritual Of The Drugs
Now that my father had been taken away, George the Nurse led us through the next phase of activity. My father had programmed his life around his daily drug schedule. Drugs had been stockpiled, not only for daily use, but for the anticipated death struggle. There were enough drugs in the house to euthanize Ringling Brother's Barnum & Bailey Circus. These had to be rendered useless.
We systematically destroyed, or rendered unusable, the storehouse of drugs by putting them into doubled garbage bags, together with water and kitty litter. It took an hour to remove all the pills from their foil packets and release the nebulizer liquids from their plastic ampules. Some over-the-counter pills, like multivitamins, that require no prescription, I kept. At everyone's insistence, I kept the Extra-Strength Tylenol suppositories (which are said to be very effective for fever, but which I'm less enthused about using).
We systematically destroyed, or rendered unusable, the storehouse of drugs by putting them into doubled garbage bags, together with water and kitty litter. It took an hour to remove all the pills from their foil packets and release the nebulizer liquids from their plastic ampules. Some over-the-counter pills, like multivitamins, that require no prescription, I kept. At everyone's insistence, I kept the Extra-Strength Tylenol suppositories (which are said to be very effective for fever, but which I'm less enthused about using).
It Was A Dark And Rainy Night
My brother-in-law Ken picked me up at the airport. A dust storm associated with a thunderstorm struck the airport just a few minutes after I arrived, so it looked like I touched down just in the nick of time.
When we arrived at my Dad's place, the jovial neighbor, Jim, warmly welcomed my arrival, and wanted to talk, but my sisters cut us short. My presence was required in my Dad's bedroom.
My father, bedridden for two days, needed help moving around. I was happy to oblige. For all my sister's dire warnings, I thought my Dad somehow looked better than expected, with few wrinkles and an appreciable glow to his face. I complimented my father on how he looked, and my sister Michelle joined in: "Dad, I have more wrinkles than you do! How do you keep your skin looking so nice? What is your beauty secret?" Then, answering herself, she said "Oh! It's the Blakes' Lotaburgers!" We all laughed about that, including my father [note: Blakes is a NM drive-up hamburger restaurant chain, and over the years, my father was among their most devoted patrons.]
In the evening, meeting with my family, I caught up on my father's latest medical problems. He had fallen twice earlier in the week, and graduated instantly to a walker, but even that was a passing phase: he was now bedridden. In addition to COPD, and emphysema, and stomach cancer, he now also had congestive heart failure and pneumonia too. A pretty formidable list of enemies! My sister Marra thought he would pass away in a few hours (George the Hospice Nurse also thought that a quick death was likely). I thought he probably had two days left, but it was hard to tell.
My sister Michelle decided to sleep in the second bedroom, at the southern end of the mobile home. A baby monitor made it possible for her to hear my Dad, despite the distance. I decided to sleep on some sofa pillows next to my Dad's bed, in the first, northern bedroom. We sent sister Marra home to get some rest.
Rainy nights are rare in New Mexico, but the water fell in sheets Thursday night, and Friday morning. Both my sister and I made pretenses to sleep - early on, we may even have had some naps - but after about 1 a.m., we gave up. We turned on the bedroom light and shifted his position, hoping to make him more comfortable. He refused morphine (he made minimal use of the drug, taking it only four times, each dose being half of the recommended minimum dose, and only sufficient to cause an hour's long nap). Then we turned off the lights and in the dark made do with blue illumination from a first-alert device on a bedside table. My sister held his hand and I placed my hand on his shoulder. The pneumonia had settled in and breathing was more difficult than ever.
One of the things that dying people do is to take what are called long breaths - where breathing ceases altogether for a long time - before starting breathing again (almost like sleep apnea). According to George the Nurse, he had been taking these long breaths even on Thursday. He had rallied Thursday evening when I arrived, but now, in the wee hours of Friday morning, he had slipped back into the long breaths.
By 3 a.m., the long breaths alternated with the dread "death rattle" of galloping pneumonia. Death appeared increasingly likely. We both checked the time every few minutes. Heavy rain pelted the mobile home.
At about 4:30 a.m., with a mighty effort of his body, he pushed away my hand from his shoulder. Perhaps he was irritated by my hand's presence, or perhaps he had to focus on something else. At 4:36 a.m., he took a breath, then stopped. We waited for him to resume breathing, and only slowly realized he wasn't going to breathe again. In the nocturnal electric-blue illumination, I could see his head shift slightly from side to side, as if struggling. At 4:38 a.m. MDT, Friday, August 14, 2009, the struggling stopped.
We turned on the lights and quickly called my sister Marra with the news. We also turned off the oxygen-concentrating breathing apparatus that had kept him going for so many years. Then we called Harmony Hospice and roused George the Nurse. Since the mobile home park is a gated community, I went out to wait for George at the gate (the journey to which had been rendered more complicated by the recent actions of the Middle Rio Grande Conservancy District to close the access road to the gate in order to replace a bridge across the irrigation ditch). I returned to the trailer once just to make sure George was coming, and went out to wait for him again at the gate. George finally arrived and pronounced my father dead at 5:53 a.m. About 6:15 a.m., we called French Mortuary, with whom my father had made prior funeral arrangements. At 7:45 a.m., French's Transport Team rolled up and prepared to take my father's body away.
When the Transport Team took my father's arms and legs and moved him from the bed to the stretcher, my father exhaled through his vocal cords, sounding just like he was protesting the move from beyond the grave. I was spooked by the involuntary noise, but fortunately my sisters had been speaking to each other and didn't notice. Then the transport vehicle rolled away in the rain.
And finally, in the light of Friday's grey dawn, the rain stopped.
Left: Frozen in time - the mobile home's living room and kitchen, captured on the morning of D-Day.
Left: My father's last trip out of the mobile home park. French Mortuary's transport coach, carrying my father's body, does a T-turn in order to exit the park.
We later asked why French chose a uniform white color for their fleet. They said it was a matter of practicality - white is a better, cooler color for the desert. An interesting piece of trivia they offered: in South Carolina, funeral home auto fleets are a dark green color.
When we arrived at my Dad's place, the jovial neighbor, Jim, warmly welcomed my arrival, and wanted to talk, but my sisters cut us short. My presence was required in my Dad's bedroom.
My father, bedridden for two days, needed help moving around. I was happy to oblige. For all my sister's dire warnings, I thought my Dad somehow looked better than expected, with few wrinkles and an appreciable glow to his face. I complimented my father on how he looked, and my sister Michelle joined in: "Dad, I have more wrinkles than you do! How do you keep your skin looking so nice? What is your beauty secret?" Then, answering herself, she said "Oh! It's the Blakes' Lotaburgers!" We all laughed about that, including my father [note: Blakes is a NM drive-up hamburger restaurant chain, and over the years, my father was among their most devoted patrons.]
In the evening, meeting with my family, I caught up on my father's latest medical problems. He had fallen twice earlier in the week, and graduated instantly to a walker, but even that was a passing phase: he was now bedridden. In addition to COPD, and emphysema, and stomach cancer, he now also had congestive heart failure and pneumonia too. A pretty formidable list of enemies! My sister Marra thought he would pass away in a few hours (George the Hospice Nurse also thought that a quick death was likely). I thought he probably had two days left, but it was hard to tell.
My sister Michelle decided to sleep in the second bedroom, at the southern end of the mobile home. A baby monitor made it possible for her to hear my Dad, despite the distance. I decided to sleep on some sofa pillows next to my Dad's bed, in the first, northern bedroom. We sent sister Marra home to get some rest.
Rainy nights are rare in New Mexico, but the water fell in sheets Thursday night, and Friday morning. Both my sister and I made pretenses to sleep - early on, we may even have had some naps - but after about 1 a.m., we gave up. We turned on the bedroom light and shifted his position, hoping to make him more comfortable. He refused morphine (he made minimal use of the drug, taking it only four times, each dose being half of the recommended minimum dose, and only sufficient to cause an hour's long nap). Then we turned off the lights and in the dark made do with blue illumination from a first-alert device on a bedside table. My sister held his hand and I placed my hand on his shoulder. The pneumonia had settled in and breathing was more difficult than ever.
One of the things that dying people do is to take what are called long breaths - where breathing ceases altogether for a long time - before starting breathing again (almost like sleep apnea). According to George the Nurse, he had been taking these long breaths even on Thursday. He had rallied Thursday evening when I arrived, but now, in the wee hours of Friday morning, he had slipped back into the long breaths.
By 3 a.m., the long breaths alternated with the dread "death rattle" of galloping pneumonia. Death appeared increasingly likely. We both checked the time every few minutes. Heavy rain pelted the mobile home.
At about 4:30 a.m., with a mighty effort of his body, he pushed away my hand from his shoulder. Perhaps he was irritated by my hand's presence, or perhaps he had to focus on something else. At 4:36 a.m., he took a breath, then stopped. We waited for him to resume breathing, and only slowly realized he wasn't going to breathe again. In the nocturnal electric-blue illumination, I could see his head shift slightly from side to side, as if struggling. At 4:38 a.m. MDT, Friday, August 14, 2009, the struggling stopped.
We turned on the lights and quickly called my sister Marra with the news. We also turned off the oxygen-concentrating breathing apparatus that had kept him going for so many years. Then we called Harmony Hospice and roused George the Nurse. Since the mobile home park is a gated community, I went out to wait for George at the gate (the journey to which had been rendered more complicated by the recent actions of the Middle Rio Grande Conservancy District to close the access road to the gate in order to replace a bridge across the irrigation ditch). I returned to the trailer once just to make sure George was coming, and went out to wait for him again at the gate. George finally arrived and pronounced my father dead at 5:53 a.m. About 6:15 a.m., we called French Mortuary, with whom my father had made prior funeral arrangements. At 7:45 a.m., French's Transport Team rolled up and prepared to take my father's body away.
When the Transport Team took my father's arms and legs and moved him from the bed to the stretcher, my father exhaled through his vocal cords, sounding just like he was protesting the move from beyond the grave. I was spooked by the involuntary noise, but fortunately my sisters had been speaking to each other and didn't notice. Then the transport vehicle rolled away in the rain.
And finally, in the light of Friday's grey dawn, the rain stopped.
Left: Frozen in time - the mobile home's living room and kitchen, captured on the morning of D-Day.
Left: My father's last trip out of the mobile home park. French Mortuary's transport coach, carrying my father's body, does a T-turn in order to exit the park.We later asked why French chose a uniform white color for their fleet. They said it was a matter of practicality - white is a better, cooler color for the desert. An interesting piece of trivia they offered: in South Carolina, funeral home auto fleets are a dark green color.
RIP, Marcial Valdez
June 2, 1925 - August 14, 2009Time of death: 4:38 a.m. MDT (just 11 hours after I arrived)
Pronounced dead: 5:53 a.m. MDT
Services to be arranged by French Mortuary (Wyoming branch). Here is the first draft of the obituary. A slightly-revised final draft will be published Sunday in the Albuquerque Journal:
VALDEZ – Marcial Valdez, age 84, passed away in his Albuquerque home in the early morning hours of August 14, 2009. Marcial was born June 2, 1925 in Myers, NM, to Felipe (an AT&SF railroad section foreman) and Carmelita Sena Valdez. Marcial’s first years were lived following the railroad with his family (e.g., in Morley, CO; and also in Maxwell, Hahn, and Hatch NM, among other places), but his family eventually settled in Bernalillo. In World War II, he served as an artilleryman in the 666th Field Artillery Battalion, Baker Battery, within the U.S. First Army, which was under the command of British Field Marshall Sir Bernard L. Montgomery. The 666th joined the Battle of the Bulge in Belgium’s Ardennes Forest on December 31, 1944, crossed the Rhine into Germany on March 25, 1945, and ultimately ended up in Salzburg, Austria after the war. After his return to NM, Marcial joined Sandia Corporation and worked for more than twenty years there as an accountant. He also built his own house in Corrales and raised his family there. In 1990, Marcial retired to Green Acres Mobile Home Park in Albuquerque’s North Valley. He is survived by his sister, Senaida Aragon of Bernalillo; three children; Marc Valdez of Sacramento, CA, and Michelle Browning and Marra Valdez-Newman of Albuquerque; his grandson Aaron Christopher Browning, and his son-in-law Ken Newman. Marcial’s wife, Marjorie Louise Buzzell Valdez, preceded him in death in 1992. The Valdez family would like to thank Harmony Home Health and Hospice, Disabled American Veterans, the dedicated health professionals at the Veteran’s Administration Hospital in Albuquerque, and Maxim Healthcare Services, as well as Marcial’s friends and neighbors. A memorial service will be held at French Mortuary’s Wyoming Blvd. location on Tuesday August 18, 2009. Public viewing begins at 10:30 a.m. Services start at 11:30 a.m. Burial is at 2:00 p.m.
Arrangements by:
French Mortuary
7121 Wyoming Blvd. NE, Albuquerque, 87109
(505) 823-9400
Aerial Pix From Sacramento To Phoenix
Left: Clouds, and their shadows, on the edge of monsoonal moisture, western Arizona.
Left: Right up there with the popcorn clouds!
Left: Mill St. Bridge, and vicinity, Tempe, AZ.
Left: Dust storm (followed by heavy rain) greets the weary traveler in Albuquerque. On the ground just in time!
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Hiatus - Trip To NM
Hmmm...... The blog sure is acting funny. The font size increased inexplicably....
Anyway, time to go to NM again. My father's health is deteriorating radically: today is his first bedridden day....
I will blog as events allow from my sister's computer. I hope to be back in two weeks, but really, there's no telling.....
Anyway, time to go to NM again. My father's health is deteriorating radically: today is his first bedridden day....
I will blog as events allow from my sister's computer. I hope to be back in two weeks, but really, there's no telling.....
When Emperor Retlaw Reigned
This helps enhance our understanding:
ORLANDO, FL—A Disney World maintenance crew performing routine electrical work below Cinderella Castle last week accidentally stumbled upon a mysterious underground chamber believed to contain more than 8,000 terra-cotta Mouseketeer statues dating back to 300 B.C.
Within days of the discovery, the nation's top archaeologists had begun excavating the massive subterranean army of fresh-faced clay youths, already considered the finest collection of relics from the Early Disney Dynasty ever unearthed. The opulently decorated mausoleum—suspected to be the final resting site of Emperor Retlaw I—houses row upon row of life-sized ceramic sculptures modeled after clean-cut teenagers, their faces forever frozen in a mix of joy and wonder.
"Very little is known about the early history of the Disney civilization, so this is quite a significant find," said lead archaeologist Dr. Robert Moore, adding that it may take years to fully explore the labyrinthine system of tunnels and pits that surround the burial chamber. "By analyzing the crude markings above the doorway to the tomb, we've concluded that it was likely constructed during the Pre-Eisnerian period, one of the bloodiest and most chaotic eras in the history of the Magic Kingdom."
...Because only a few hand-drawn animated cells from the reign of Retlaw I have survived to the present day, the extensive carvings found in the necropolis will provide reams of new information about the powerful Mouseketeer army. Scholars first determined the statues were intended to accompany the dead into the next life after deciphering a tablet that read 'Akman al Luad H'Beth," or "See you real soon."
"These relics have so much to tell us about the formative years of the Disney empire," said Smithsonian head G. Wayne Clough, who has already made attempts to acquire the 13-foot jade Big Roy found inside the mausoleum. "And we can finally put an end to the ridiculous rumor that these soldiers can be awakened from their centuries-long slumber and unleashed upon the greater Orlando area to mercilessly trample their enemies underfoot and reclaim the Magic Kingdom for their immortal ruler simply by some bozo saying the phrase 'Meeska, Mooska, Mouseketeer' while holding this amulet I've got here."
Molly Ringwald On John Hughes
Via XXFactor & The New York Times:
Most everyone knows that John retreated from Hollywood and became a sort of J.D. Salinger for Generation X. But really, sometime before then, he had retreated from us and from the kinds of movies that he had made with us. I still believe that the Hughes films of which both Michael and I were a part (specifically “Sixteen Candles” and “The Breakfast Club”) were the most deeply personal expressions of John’s. In retrospect, I feel that we were sort of avatars for him, acting out the different parts of his life — improving upon it, perhaps. In those movies, he always got the last word. He always got the girl.
None of the films that he made subsequently had the same kind of personal feeling to me. They were funny, yes, wildly successful, to be sure, but I recognized very little of the John I knew in them, of his youthful, urgent, unmistakable vulnerability. It was like his heart had closed, or at least was no longer open for public view. A darker spin can be gleaned from the words John put into the mouth of Allison in “The Breakfast Club”: “When you grow up ... your heart dies.”
I’m speaking metaphorically, of course. Though it does seem sadly poignant that physically, at least, John’s heart really did die. It also seems undeniably meaningful: His was a heavy heart, deeply sensitive, prone to injury — easily broken.
Most people who knew John knew that he was able to hold a grudge longer than anyone — his grudges were almost supernatural things, enduring for years, even decades. Michael suspects that he was never forgiven for turning down parts in “Pretty in Pink” and “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.” I turned down later films as well. Not because I didn’t want to work with John anymore — I loved working with him, more than anyone before or since.
John saw something in me that I didn’t even see in myself. He had complete confidence in me as an actor, which was an extraordinary and heady sensation for anyone, let alone a 16-year-old girl. I did some of my best work with him. How could I not? He continually told me that I was the best, and because of my undying respect for him and his judgment, how could I have not believed him?
Eventually, though, I felt that I needed to work with other people as well. I wanted to grow up, something I felt (rightly or wrongly) I couldn’t do while working with John. Sometimes I wonder if that was what he found so unforgivable. We were like the Darling children when they made the decision to leave Neverland. And John was Peter Pan, warning us that if we left we could never come back. And, true to his word, not only were we unable to return, but he went one step further. He did away with Neverland itself.
...There’s a scene in “Sixteen Candles” where my character, Samantha, and Michael’s character, “the geek,” have a heart-to-heart talk. The scene lasts all of six minutes, but it took us days to film because we were all laughing too hard. John, too. He sat under the camera — his permanent place before directors retreated to the video monitor — while the assistant directors stood around rolling their eyes waiting for him to stop laughing and reprimand “the kids.” But how could he? He was one of us.
...Toward the end of my phone call with Michael, we spent a little time catching up on mutual friends and family. I told him that my 5-year-old daughter, Mathilda, had just secured the part that she wanted in her theater camp — Tiger Lily, the Indian princess in “Peter Pan.” Michael made me promise to invite him to Mathilda’s debut as a fellow thespian. So in a few weeks we’ll drive to the theater and spend a couple of hours with Tiger Lily, Peter, Wendy and the Lost Boys.
Turns out, you can return to Neverland. At least for a little while.
World Cup Qualifier Today
The U.S. vs. Mexico:
Reporting from Mexico City -- The United States national soccer team has arrived at Azteca Stadium, where more than half the anticipated 105,000 fans already are in their seats for the Americans' 3 p.m. World Cup qualifier against Mexico.
Chants of "Mexico! Mexico!" are echoing through the cavernous stadium as the U.S. and Mexican flags are carried out onto the field. The game is still more than an hour away, but the noise is deafening.
More News You Can't Possibly Use
But maybe you can:
A total of 427 men and 433 females from universities in the United States, Germany and Italy were asked to imagine their response to a request by a member of the opposite sex to: a) go out on a date; b) go home with the requestor; and c) go to bed with him or her.
The person making the invitation could be "moderately unattractive," "somewhat attractive" or "exceptionally attractive," and the research participant was asked for his or her answer under each of these permutations.
Across the board, men were more likely to accept any and all of the invitations than were women. There were a few national differences among the men: the German men were most reticent about going out or going home with any of the imagined women, and Italians were least discriminate about doing anything with anyone. American men were more likely than their German counterparts to go to bed with a woman. But they weren't quite as randy as the Italians.
As a group, the men also showed a preference for a somewhat or exceedingly attractive woman over a moderately unappealing one. But as long as a woman was at least somewhat attractive, then men were equally ready to go off with her. Extraordinary beauty was not required to secure their willingness to go out, go home or go to bed with a woman extending the invitation.
Not so women. For female respondents who agreed they would go to bed with a man, only the best would do. While they were equally likely to go out with a moderately handsome man than with an exceptionally handsome specimen, the women respondents were far more likely to accept only the exceptionally attractive man's invitation to his home or his bed.
"While men are not entirely insensitive to their requestor's attractiveness, women have higher standards and are more likely to engage in casual sex with an exceptionally attractive man than with a less attractive man," said the study's author, psychologist Achim Schuetzwohl of Britain's Brunel University. The differences among men appear to reflect "cultural differences in sexual morals and preferences," he added.
Rock Star!
People come up with the strangest things in Improv Workshop class....
Last night, we were working through a scene where a girl (about age 10), washing a car, was handed a ticket to a rock concert as payment for her work. She fainted, tumbled and started screaming with excitement.
Who was the rock star? Why, it was Michael Jackson's casket!
Last night, we were working through a scene where a girl (about age 10), washing a car, was handed a ticket to a rock concert as payment for her work. She fainted, tumbled and started screaming with excitement.
Who was the rock star? Why, it was Michael Jackson's casket!
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