tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74365586346396728532024-02-07T07:19:07.687-08:00The Brain is UnremarkableI fractured my skull once.
I got better.
And I got some lovely pictures of my fractured skull..... Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-79116161908716504732020-12-29T21:14:00.069-08:002020-12-29T22:21:18.915-08:00#20Gonna20<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFEwqfB5rg1ESMYnwjjKZV3IbwAvwKceR5jE39Q8FSiCc95WhXuzCcEVWIkQzAY3yPuuCv7nSX0YeNWnZIpkDdBlI8kSOxcvILU2Yl9A1YSwpE3qp6EkvC7k4CXp94oKbYMLP3bRLwE16/s4048/IMG_20200311_191812.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3036" data-original-width="4048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFEwqfB5rg1ESMYnwjjKZV3IbwAvwKceR5jE39Q8FSiCc95WhXuzCcEVWIkQzAY3yPuuCv7nSX0YeNWnZIpkDdBlI8kSOxcvILU2Yl9A1YSwpE3qp6EkvC7k4CXp94oKbYMLP3bRLwE16/w320-h240/IMG_20200311_191812.jpg" title="Solitude of Dusk at the Richmond Ferry Dock" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>Solitude of Dusk, Richmond Ferry Dock</div></td></tr></tbody></table><h2 style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/iJPfTNnLVY9CG9rt8" target="_blank">20 Images of 2020, plus One In Memoriam</a></h2><h1 style="text-align: left;"><br /></h1>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0San Francisco Bay Area, CA, USA37.8271784 -122.29130789.5169445638211556 -157.4475578 66.137412236178847 -87.1350578tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-87223853588057119822019-02-23T13:39:00.004-08:002019-02-27T05:29:02.467-08:00The Ford Fl-Car ~ An American Automotive Allegory<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDdbR_oPnybzLxcDeg1TCJ0a-3GMPGOvqBerF2sZCdL4-_VV0QirBBlEBKr9RjNunhHPccd6wpFU8rh2FYvOvHszcpHI-sTDZXQySXadG901PPxaWJMrSggaAqdxQysqOOWvjlJ_87E8em/s1600/IMG_20190218_094441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDdbR_oPnybzLxcDeg1TCJ0a-3GMPGOvqBerF2sZCdL4-_VV0QirBBlEBKr9RjNunhHPccd6wpFU8rh2FYvOvHszcpHI-sTDZXQySXadG901PPxaWJMrSggaAqdxQysqOOWvjlJ_87E8em/s320/IMG_20190218_094441.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Still the Busted Laptop, but with an Explanation</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Ford Fl-Car ~ An American Automotive Allegory</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The Unremarkable Brain interrupts the previewed schedule of Blog posts to recount the tale of an unremarkable milestone in history of the American Automotive Industry-- the story of the Ford Fl-Car! (Pronounced “Fl-Kar”)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In February 1947, several years after Henry Ford left his corporation to dedicate his life to philanthropy, the geniuses in whose hands he had left the Ford Motor Company released their latest innovation at automotive shows in Detroit, New York and Los Angeles</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Announcers proclaimed: “Ladies and Gentlemen, you will now glimpse the Future. Ford Motor Company gives you- The Ford Fl-Car!”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The Fl-Car was the World’s First Flying Car. Breathless marketing copy averred that the Fl-Car would provide Americans the rarefied experience of setting off from home-- by taking off!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The program from the Spring 1947 International Automotive Exhibition in Detroit rapturously proclaimed, “Your neighbors will gape in awe and envy as you make your way along at the amazing altitude of 9 feet!”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Quite the innovation.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Seventy-two years on, there are no extant examples of the Ford Fl-Car on the road. Such cars, of course, wouldn’t be on the road; they’d be cruising along at vintage car shows at an amazing altitude of nine feet.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Nevertheless, the Fl-Car model was a dreadfully ignominious failure. Automotive Industry analysts attribute the model's failure to three design flaws:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">1) The Fl-Car’s engine had an incurable bug-- it leaked oil continually. Your neighbors, and most Americans, stopped gaping in awe and envy when they started getting motor oil in their mouths.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">2) It did achieve and maintain an amazing altitude of nine feet but there are structures that are 10 feet, and taller. The Fl-Car frequently crashed into them.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">3) </span><span style="font-size: large;">The Fl-Car couldn't land.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">By Summer 1947 the Ford Motor Company had pulled the Fl-Car from production. It never again was seen at Ford dealerships or cruising 9 feet above American roads. And by Summer 1947, Henry Ford was deceased-- apparently succumbing to embarrassment.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">OK--- Henry Ford did die in 1947 but probably not of embarrassment. Probably nothing could embarrass Henry Ford. And, of course, they was never a Fl-Car.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But there is Windows 10.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I've repeated the image above of the busted laptop and I feel I must explain how my laptop got busted. You see, this laptop had Windows 7 when I purchased it but by 2016, after a stop at Windows 8.oops, Microsoft was trying to shove Windows 10 into it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Windows 10 is to Microsoft what the Fl-Car would have been to the Ford Motor Company-- the bridge too far, the product that was doomed to failure.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Windows 10 metaphorically continually leaked oil and ran into structures 10 feet above ground-- which is perhaps why it was dubbed Windows 10.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Tongue in cheek and palm to face, I blame the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation for Windows 10. (Remember-- if Henry Ford hadn't devoted himself to philanthropy, no Fl-Car) </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When Gates left Microsoft to devote HIS life to philanthropy the Microsoft Corporation evidently experienced such a catastrophic brain drain that the brains left behind simply did not know how Windows anymore.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Hence Windows 10, hence my laptop had to die.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">After many downloads of unnecessary upgrades, I was often left with a laptop that constantly consistently presented-- not the dread Blue Screen of Death-- but the equally bricked but needlessly antagonistic Blue Screen of Death with a Swirl. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Imagine your laptop screen screaming, “I'm still alive but you can't access me!”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Because of Windows 10, I unfortunately broke my laptop in touch screen.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">On one occasion, when Windows 10 needed to freshen itself up with another FORCED unnecessary download of an upgrade, I slapped the smirky swirl on my touch screen and it cracked.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">On another occasion of a disabling FORCED unnecessary download of an upgrade, my fist collided with my computer. The thing ground to a halt. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The word that popped into my head as I beat the living upgrade out of my computer? “Unproductive”.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">How do I have a functioning laptop now? I learned how to use Ubuntu and currently am running Ubuntu 18.04…. or perhaps a hybrid with Lubuntu. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">There are challenges but, at least, I get to say what updates want and when I want them.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Whatever-- I don't bother it, it doesn't bother me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Basically now I actually have an “okay car” that works. Not a fucking Fl-Car. I'm good.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Update from </span><span style="font-size: large;">Forbes: </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Windows (10) Updates (are) still a confusing mess to manage. That’s the definitive conclusion from a newly published study, which also contains a flowchart of Windows 10 update behavior that may just melt your brain."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; color: #333333; font-family: , "georgia" , "droid serif" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4msM2Ax5Kh_j1XZIJb7c6Z_pZQu47anC3yOB4M4SS-cJDuZY0jK0_gLuCog27g7FFkn_qu6YhaKhyEZ_hZdyTiUPnbRJqff4F0qoEXwwMrfSozgUgTT_S1Ml6rRMg7PRsjLg72QTwgT0E/s1600/windows-automatic-update-flowchart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1462" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4msM2Ax5Kh_j1XZIJb7c6Z_pZQu47anC3yOB4M4SS-cJDuZY0jK0_gLuCog27g7FFkn_qu6YhaKhyEZ_hZdyTiUPnbRJqff4F0qoEXwwMrfSozgUgTT_S1Ml6rRMg7PRsjLg72QTwgT0E/s320/windows-automatic-update-flowchart.jpg" width="292" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"Windows 10 Updates Are Still A Confusing Mess, And This One Image Proves It." </span><span style="font-size: large;">2/27/2019</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.forbes.com/sites/jasonevangelho/2019/02/27/windows-10-updates-are-a-confusing-mess-and-this-one-image-proves-it/" target="_blank">https://www.forbes.com/sites/jasonevangelho/2019/02/27/windows-10-updates-are-a-confusing-mess-and-this-one-image-proves-it/</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">-------</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Self evaluation</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">There was recently great relief in the form of a lifting of a major stressor in my life. (No, I didn't hit anyone or anything. I'll expound later.) </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The tale of the Fl-Car was a bit of schtick I've often bored people with verbally, but I was able to get it in writing here within roughly three hours. Typos? Sure.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But now I can expand the audience I bore with this schtick</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">From now on one "So I Went" (Maine), one "So I Heard" (Karaoke Songs - "Too Much Heaven") and many lovely photos (<a href="https://theunremarkablebrain.blogspot.com/p/sale.html">which you can order as Prints or Notecards, here!</a>)</span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Oakland, CA, USA37.8043637 -122.271113737.4026477 -122.9165607 38.206079700000004 -121.6256667tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-27618199059872339762019-02-19T06:27:00.001-08:002019-02-19T06:32:03.735-08:00red tree flowers<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhph_icvHcPWimZ7vzeAXufAd7iYW6IGbLgcXqEV-GaULaL6bMpvsJH0PFj5P3LWGza7u-37V5S3PVv1dnjLKE24StfYQGScwAPw1v3SAWGvXE752hruWFMX-WM2lvws8TjVdLS3sFttrsC/s1600/50337168_10218487916811803_8704828231343144960_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhph_icvHcPWimZ7vzeAXufAd7iYW6IGbLgcXqEV-GaULaL6bMpvsJH0PFj5P3LWGza7u-37V5S3PVv1dnjLKE24StfYQGScwAPw1v3SAWGvXE752hruWFMX-WM2lvws8TjVdLS3sFttrsC/s320/50337168_10218487916811803_8704828231343144960_o.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">red three flowers</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Oakland, CA, USA37.8043637 -122.271113737.4026477 -122.9165607 38.206079700000004 -121.6256667tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-8058799188742967282019-02-18T09:53:00.002-08:002019-02-19T06:25:21.845-08:00The International Federation of Who Cares<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhriD9Kipufof9b5NGkRP6u97eiBFQMgNep2RmP1UYnHJiHXTn_sgcSdnpWV_GtEPsdzopfkdw5MofMAI4wLwiqdMlscviVbxOPr75gDh9OwWPaMNlFOIY6lXlxaMmVvLXH39DGzR0jgFvM/s1600/IMG_20190218_094441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhriD9Kipufof9b5NGkRP6u97eiBFQMgNep2RmP1UYnHJiHXTn_sgcSdnpWV_GtEPsdzopfkdw5MofMAI4wLwiqdMlscviVbxOPr75gDh9OwWPaMNlFOIY6lXlxaMmVvLXH39DGzR0jgFvM/s320/IMG_20190218_094441.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Busted Laptop with Unmade Bed in Background</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The International Federation of Who Cares</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">What is it that keeps people from completing the tasks they need to complete? What causes procrastination?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Many years after I gained intimate acquaintance with procrastination, I had the long-delayed epiphany that the basic origin of procrastination is hidden in the statement "Don't let the perfect be the enemy of the good". As a Italophone, I was surprised to learn that this aphorism usually attributed to Voltaire is based on the Italian: "Le meglio è l'inimico del bene".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Now, I don’t claim the procrastination in my writing work is a symptom of perfectionism. Incompletion in my work probably stems more an approach to it left over from how I wrote when I was first strongly conditioned to write. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When most people were more focused on writing papers (which I also did) I became more concerned with writing scripts for theatrical plays because the scripts were expected of me (long story which I may or may not get to.) </span><span style="font-size: large;">The scripts I wrote fit a certain format. Unlike playscripts one may read in literature class-- and as I first wrote scripts-- my endeavor centered on writing LESS: with less scenic and lighting detail and fewer blocking details and line readings. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I came to understand of the process of writing as one which leaves room for collaborative input from other professionals-- designers, directors and actors. Hence, I became more inclined to leave my writing work incomplete, awaiting feedback from other.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">In the folowing years event till today, on several assignments I’ve maintained that approach towards writing and discovered that my assumption was way wrong-headed. In most instances, it was instead expected that the written material I turned in would be 100% done; not a penultimate draft on which editorial comment and collaboration would be offered. certainly. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This attitude to prose writing is like another form of writing I did when I was younger-- songwriting. I wrote songs by myself, writing both the music and lyrics, doing my own “nitpicking” until the product suited my standard as “perfect” This practice has oddly made me super-critical of songwriting-- especially songs written by songwriting teams.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">For example-- and drawing in the topic of “nitpicking”-- the weirdest lyric that has ever leapt out of a song was written is at the beginning of the song written by the Bee Gees for Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. I admire the (B)rothers (G)ibb’s writing skill and I will reinforce this admiration in referring to their work on another song which I will feature in this month’s Karaoke Song spotlight, "Too Much Heaven".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But their lyric which has always struck as flawed is that of </span><span style="font-size: large;">“Islands in the Stream”. "IITS" is a fun song about mutual devotion which begins with an astoundingly off-tone analogy:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Baby, when I met you there was peace unknown</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I set out to get you with a fine tooth comb</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Huh? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Anyone who has ever used a “fine tooth comb” knows that if you set out to get anything with one of these devices, you're basically seeking a louse (or its eggs). </span><span style="font-size: large;">This weird phrase hasn’t prevented the song from becoming a beloved classic and the Bee Gees regarded as expert songwriters, but here we have both the literal and figurative failure of nitpicking.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps they are the charter members of the International Federation of Who Cares? Do you wonder what IFWC is, and how to join?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My wor</span><span style="font-size: large;">k with a team of two other co-worker in the travel industry. We would (I believe) literally tear our hair out trying to make three destination brochures, consisting of a total over one hundred pages featuring hundred of hotels with thousands of price point absolutely error free. This</span><span style="font-size: large;"> longtime experience later on in my life reinforced the belief process I has as a scriptwriter-- seeing writing was a seemingly eternal collaborative free-for-all. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The descriptive copy I wrote portraying hotels, tours and destinations would always be nitpicked over-- until the core team with which I worked discovered the International Federation of Who Cares.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">For three years preparing these brochure promoting product in Hawaii, Mexico and Tahiti we always failed at being 100% perfect-- and received grief for our failed effort. Probably the grief we received was mostly self-originating, until we created the IFWC.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">We didn't descend into the dismay of the impossible pit of nitpicking. Whenever my boss would lament that our work was “a complete mess", my reply was "It's not a complete mess. It’s an incomplete success”. This touchy-feeling slogan was roundly mocked.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Ultimately our route to colalborative madness wound up at the cul-de-sac of IFWC. This acronym began as an abbreviation of a phrase we’d utter in frustrate disgust as our deadline approached and yet minor errors would arise.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We’d say/ask of the end result of our efforts: It’s Fine! Who Cares?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The phrase became “IFWC”. From there this union of good enough was universalized into the International Federation of Who Cares. This global brotherhood/sisterhood exists to this day when anyone has had enough in the search for perfection.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Anyone who is in the midst of a dispiriting search for perfection-- who has proofread and corrected to distraction and who despairs that a job well done is a job never done may join merely but taking a deep breath and intoning:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"It’s Fine! Who Cares?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">________________</span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Self-evaluation</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yeesh. Where to begin? An essay on the topic of procrastination completed nine days late? The reason: being trapped in an existential hell where the revelation of a determination is put off while the determination undergoes a "quality review" which can take several months.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I did some revision in the following days which brought the piece more into focus.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But concentration seems impossible. (No real world details will be shared in this blog until THAT process is complete.) At the very least I was able to ignore the arrival on an email related to that process until I got this posted.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Oakland, CA, USA37.8043637 -122.271113737.4026477 -122.9165607 38.206079700000004 -121.6256667tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-91853671385812109062019-01-23T16:02:00.001-08:002019-02-23T13:41:16.251-08:00the unremarkable brain returns in february<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrpP04x7xjF0cmn2SfIvQnDET77caCayWbYhounHsZEW0cXCE7wnYExpC9PZpzjP5NgU90_0xsEJERJ-rltA-59eCfudStGrcPPQqloh5KY5yIKBKiVdqRjUr93lNHXGCPlDSHR5BMimyA/s1600/brain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="284" data-original-width="736" height="123" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrpP04x7xjF0cmn2SfIvQnDET77caCayWbYhounHsZEW0cXCE7wnYExpC9PZpzjP5NgU90_0xsEJERJ-rltA-59eCfudStGrcPPQqloh5KY5yIKBKiVdqRjUr93lNHXGCPlDSHR5BMimyA/s320/brain.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The unremarkable brain has been on hiatus last month and this month as a result of the holidays and the Federal Government shutdown-- yes, my brain actually IS a National Park, but I digress--</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Great news!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The unremarkable brain</span><span style="font-size: large;"> will be returning in February with:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So I Thought: "The International Federation of Who Cares?" (2/9) and "Does Humor Have a Color? Yes. Green." (2/23)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So I Saw: Seven more R O Y G B I V images</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So I Went: "Maine" (2/13)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So I Heard: "Karaoke Songs: Too Much Heaven" (2/17)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Dates approximate.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>ALSO -- If you would like to order prints or notecards featuring my images, please see <a href="https://theunremarkablebrain.blogspot.com/p/sale.html">SALE</a> to place orders!</b></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Oakland, CA, USA37.8043637 -122.271113737.4026477 -122.9165607 38.206079700000004 -121.6256667tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-59520218898018322052018-12-02T17:34:00.000-08:002018-12-02T17:34:15.997-08:00violet cardoon at high noon<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYYsVZV9LVeF-CBthUm1naoPm-ejP9J6y6YChCcCFAhu0XnI82n_UmMo-0HBz57yjRQ1zlJfCheeLHGEHGTNrNiIbhjkuqK_Ro_x-VxX-gA8HtM2zDzsqxCLIuF4iWpRTujRNktaAZhO0G/s1600/13483037_10210071036475055_4741985226592266015_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYYsVZV9LVeF-CBthUm1naoPm-ejP9J6y6YChCcCFAhu0XnI82n_UmMo-0HBz57yjRQ1zlJfCheeLHGEHGTNrNiIbhjkuqK_Ro_x-VxX-gA8HtM2zDzsqxCLIuF4iWpRTujRNktaAZhO0G/s320/13483037_10210071036475055_4741985226592266015_o.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">violet cardoon at high noon<br />the gardens at lake merritt, oakland, ca</span></td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0The Gardens at Lake Merritt, 666 Bellevue Ave, Oakland, CA 94610, USA37.8070753 -122.2586863999999912.8713673 -163.5672804 62.7427833 -80.950092399999988tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-32633191699763465452018-12-02T17:27:00.000-08:002018-12-02T17:36:40.608-08:00indigo motel mood<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8BI64fIef4aFua9NxjaosGxsb6woipfwPIST1MdC4V88QB4NuUCbENr6rVLXFRfheHIx2-i54aWEafAZUnXM3mUD6fLApq0aksEqEwkvjXJeKO4PDbXDjZGvikMyfn1C-hjXU-pP7mlcS/s1600/IndigoMoodMotel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8BI64fIef4aFua9NxjaosGxsb6woipfwPIST1MdC4V88QB4NuUCbENr6rVLXFRfheHIx2-i54aWEafAZUnXM3mUD6fLApq0aksEqEwkvjXJeKO4PDbXDjZGvikMyfn1C-hjXU-pP7mlcS/s320/IndigoMoodMotel.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">indigo motel mood<br />memphis, tn</span></td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0450 Mulberry St, Memphis, TN 38103, USA35.134429 -90.05750699999998710.198720999999995 -131.366101 60.070137 -48.748912999999988tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-18609609330118593112018-12-02T17:22:00.000-08:002018-12-02T17:28:54.338-08:00blue sign<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizUH8NU9iO5JHD3DkzY5GmB3lLhk-t13cPJgl5j9I0RMRA8O7yjKohqZ2DmTO7rtuocs_oXGgdfnL-iogaYlPpCU-rC6MLBkIJFrWJseyhrIVZM9zL1wH738PcPUqfAM2l94w4d-LvUSmq/s1600/1409253730588.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizUH8NU9iO5JHD3DkzY5GmB3lLhk-t13cPJgl5j9I0RMRA8O7yjKohqZ2DmTO7rtuocs_oXGgdfnL-iogaYlPpCU-rC6MLBkIJFrWJseyhrIVZM9zL1wH738PcPUqfAM2l94w4d-LvUSmq/s320/1409253730588.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">blue sign<br />division street, san francisco, ca</span></td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0San Francisco, CA, USA37.7749295 -122.4194155000000136.9717915 -123.71030900000001 38.578067499999996 -121.12852200000002tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-60397085212431625892018-12-02T17:00:00.000-08:002019-02-23T14:56:53.635-08:00How Great is Depression and How Long is Anxiety<span style="font-size: large;">So I thought it would be a worthy endeavour-- at this point-- to present a simple explanation of how I perceive depression and anxiety.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Then the wheels came off my will to post anything and once again I fell short of my goal of posting between the 9th and the 23rd of each month.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We’ll get it right in time.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This is not the complete reflection on the dual affliction of depression and anxiety but it will have to suffice for the moment. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Also, I’ve not studied psychology or psychiatry, so I do not know whether my characterization duplicates some other thinker's writings-- but I’m sure my impression is solely my impression. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My characterization may seem simplistic and possibly cliched but... bear with me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Anxiety: an Affliction of the Perception of Time</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">A family member shared with me an account of the first occasion on which she noted that her mother might be suffering from some sort of mental illness-- which did in fact turn out to be Alzheimer's Disease. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">On a completely mundane day out shopping with her mom, she walked away for three minutes and when she returned your mother was in a state of panic.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Alzheimer's Disease of course is not Anxiety but her account nevertheless led me to wonder whether the nature of anxiety might have something to do with the inability to fix a beginning point and then end point in one’s reasonable perception of time.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Someone who's anxious may in fact regard thirty minutes as a year-- not realistically, of course,and not rationally. But being left waiting for an anxious person approaches being unendurable. One can learn now to suppress this sort of anxiety but if one who has anxiety is told a task was just take three minute, if they have no way of a fixing to starting point to that amount of time, they enter an uncertain realm wherein time is a joke.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Depression: an Affliction of the Perception of Space</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">What pairs well with time? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Yes, that’s right: space! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And since I was anxious to have a similar definitive description of depression, I examined whether I perceived depression as a disorder in my perception of space. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I do know that a depressed person-- take me for example-- by my disordered nature instinctively overestimates the load they have to bear and the distance they have to travel.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So frequently-- not always though-- a mere trip from my bedroom to the kitchen to get a drink of water can seem as daunting as carrying a ton of weight over the distance of a mile. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This miscalculation is naturally followed by the unanswered question “….and for what purpose?”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I will continue to extrapolate on this basic premise as possible but the gist of my message today is this: To me depression and anxiety are best defined as a internal inability to adequately objectively and reasonably judge the distance to travel the burden to bear or the time to budget to accomplish anything... and the anguish which results from this failure.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">-----------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">MORE TO FOLLOW</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">-----------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Self assessment</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">-----------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I began this on a Monday and by Friday still hadn't been able to continue work on it. Now it is Sunday and I'm finally posting. As the week progressed I began to obsess on the fact that, although what I intend to write is as precise a definition of my experience of depression and anxiety that I can recount, my definition may differ from other's experiences or a textbook definition.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm also thoroughly disgusted by the utter twisting of my intended words that my voice to text executes. To dictate text pertaining to personal experiences and then to read its nonsensical shambles of transcription-- for me-- is to feel profound failure.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">On top of this challenge, note here another nasty pitfall of mental illness. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Sufferers are compelled to keep quiet because they fear that the symptoms they are confronting don't conform to a textbook definition and aren't easily understood by others.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As for this post, I'm going to have to resort to the strategy I used previously-- post what I have done and promise “MORE TO FOLLOW”.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Hey, it's something-- and something is better than nothing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Oakland, CA, USA37.8043637 -122.271113737.4026477 -122.9165607 38.206079700000004 -121.6256667tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-29387631258819367532018-11-19T05:10:00.004-08:002018-11-19T05:13:33.512-08:00green feeling<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh11tt0lLVKawgHRfOpduo83sN_qBvW7P9cS1Bm1cjXvllHe_v_D_lqhBbJvROhDb_pEkt-3LwCiSmMUMATG6fUxABJvpp7Hmmx0j6nETHcCXRgvfQX1UC1RLHbamOw10mwJYwWgvWoxN8s/s1600/GreenCaching.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh11tt0lLVKawgHRfOpduo83sN_qBvW7P9cS1Bm1cjXvllHe_v_D_lqhBbJvROhDb_pEkt-3LwCiSmMUMATG6fUxABJvpp7Hmmx0j6nETHcCXRgvfQX1UC1RLHbamOw10mwJYwWgvWoxN8s/s320/GreenCaching.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">green feeling<br />oakland, ca</span></td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-67603838074832046732018-11-19T04:59:00.001-08:002018-11-19T08:57:19.330-08:00The Secret of the Hummus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxJybv74Kw3_ce8vGl0j9mNlCGFToIyumcpI-28uCZXjvcYMVGmAkL56vvbE2BG5IeNUlFf-EzDX5PxRJyc2Ot6IuoeptcGq454vxbNkOymk0Fdi8iiJd2bSUBj-1uJoauqDa52Vtt4zsb/s1600/46438436_10218016398304135_620468434622218240_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxJybv74Kw3_ce8vGl0j9mNlCGFToIyumcpI-28uCZXjvcYMVGmAkL56vvbE2BG5IeNUlFf-EzDX5PxRJyc2Ot6IuoeptcGq454vxbNkOymk0Fdi8iiJd2bSUBj-1uJoauqDa52Vtt4zsb/s320/46438436_10218016398304135_620468434622218240_o.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I previously mentioned that "What I Thought" would include recipes. Here's one:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"The Secret of the Hummus" </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Canned garbanzo beans -- or you can cook them from raw.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">(Cooking the garbanzos</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Into a crock pot add:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As many garbanzos as you'd like to cook,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">A medium sized onion, quartered</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Several stalks of celery, with leaves, use inner stalks)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Several cloves of garlic</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">2-3 Bay Leaves</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Cook in crock pot until beans are tender, drain beans and remove bay leaves, onion and celery -- it's no great disaster if small bits of celery and onion move on in the recipe, but make sure you get all or most of the bay leaves.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I've also added roasted cumin and coriander seed in the cooking of the garbanzos, those can move on in the recipe. Proceed with the following ingredients:)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Garlic (a lot)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Olive oil (copious amounts)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Cumin (plenty)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Ground coriander (I use a former TJ's sea salt grinder with coriander seeds in it)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Dried Oregano (watch out for the stems on the little leaves)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The juice of at least two lemons...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Sesame tahini</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Salt</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Infuse olive oil with roasted garlic... roast garlic cloves on a hot surface. You can use the floor of a clean oven, cookie sheet, or a skillet in an oven at 375 degrees. When cloves are slightly browned, or even a little charred, remove them, cover with salt and smash into a paste in a bowl. Use as much garlic as you like. Cover with olive oil, and let sit while garlic infuses into oil.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Drain garbanzos.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Combine in a large bowl: garbanzos, olive oil (Reserve some garlic infused olive oil), garlic, oregano, cumin, ground coriander, lemon juice and salt.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Let this mixture sit for awhile (could be days in the fridge....)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Blend the marinated garbanzos, and spices in blender or food processor, with sesame tahini (Note: exercise restraint with tahini-- too much will impart a peanut-buttery flavor to the hummus). </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As you are blending, add garlic-infused olive oil, lemon juice, salt and cumin to taste.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">(If a kick is desired, white pepper can be added.)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">--------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Self assessment</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This recipe was pre-written as a Facebook Note. Insomnia had me awake early but fatigue nevertheless made copying and pasting difficult and stressful. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Oakland, CA, USA37.8043637 -122.271113737.4026477 -122.9165607 38.206079700000004 -121.6256667tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-84849206615256128982018-11-14T15:26:00.004-08:002018-12-02T17:37:16.611-08:00yellow leapday melancholy<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhywOZanGj1QO2_kkFbB9Tc4Nt0zO0LxmwpOf81INb2JUsg7NTEkaBCuc8oT2oIO37Wf7NvSbd79PV4GXRWjmyP18kzkL1A9itfV7ZhNHSIaAvQ1utKyVjLtrse3fr_xVbDsVDpkZiFM6jp/s1600/ROYGBIVFromTheEast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhywOZanGj1QO2_kkFbB9Tc4Nt0zO0LxmwpOf81INb2JUsg7NTEkaBCuc8oT2oIO37Wf7NvSbd79PV4GXRWjmyP18kzkL1A9itfV7ZhNHSIaAvQ1utKyVjLtrse3fr_xVbDsVDpkZiFM6jp/s320/ROYGBIVFromTheEast.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">yellow leapday melancholy<br />port of oakland, ca</span></td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-49224356753037273272018-11-14T15:21:00.005-08:002018-11-23T17:54:39.346-08:00Karaoke Tunes - Someone to Watch Over Me<span style="font-size: large;">It gives me no small amount of sadness that two voices that I've known and appreciated for years have been stilled even though the women who utilized these instruments are still alive.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Both sang a wide variety of songs-- my next favorite karaoke tune is one they both have performed.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The song is "Someone to Watch Over Me" and the vocalists are Julie Andrews, who no longer sings as the result of a botched vocal cord surgery, and Linda Ronstadt who no longer sings as a result of Parkinson's Disease.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The first time I recall hearing "Someone to Watch Over Me" was in this scene from Woody Allen's "Manhattan":</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://youtu.be/AsbdW6ZTFBs">https://youtu.be/AsbdW6ZTFBs</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The beautiful imagery of this scene was perfectly underscored by an orchestral arrangement of George Gershwin's poignant melody which </span><span style="font-size: large;">I instantly </span><span style="font-size: large;">loved. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">I had no idea at the time that I would become as fond of Ira Gershwin's lyric.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Andrews's performance of STWOM is from her much-lambasted Gertrude Lawrence biopic "Star". </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I've seen the film (or some chopped up version of it) on TV; generally, I'd describe the film "huh" dragged out past the point of "meh".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Below is a link to a clip of her performance of STWOM. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Honestly, while I recall Andrews-as-Lawrence's performance of Kurt Weill & Ira Gershwin's "The Saga of Jenny", I have no recollection of her rendition of STWOM, or even the scene's context in the film.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Ronstadt's version is from her first album of standards, conducted and arranged by Nelson Riddle.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Over their careers, the performances of both artists have demonstrated great technical skill but inconsistent emotional expression</span><span style="font-size: large;">. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">For example, Andrews's "Feed the Birds" from "Mary Poppins" and Ronstadt's "Love Has No Pride", among other performance" genuinely move me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Sadly, neither of these takes on STWOM feels right to me. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I invite you however to give both performances a listen. Please share your opinions of either or both recordings. Maybe </span><span style="font-size: large;">I'm</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">missing an epiphany....</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Inconsequential and Possibly Gratuitous Personal</span><span style="font-size: large;"> Note: When I sing </span>STWOM<span style="font-size: large;">, I make one lyric change. The idea of referring to myself as a "lost lamb" feels ridiculous, so this Aries pronounces himself a "lost ram".</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Same species; approximately equivalent pathos.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">--------------------------------------------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't own the rights to this song or these performances.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">These links are offered to facilitate an appreciation of the song. named.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Someone to Watch Over Me - Julie Andrews</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://youtu.be/QKvnUGSNbys">https://youtu.be/QKvnUGSNbys</a></span><br />
<div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Someone to Watch Over Me - Linda Ronstadt</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://youtu.be/_wzuAyAdecc">https://youtu.be/_wzuAyAdecc</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">--------------------------------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Self Assessment</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This post went in a much different direction than I first planned and took far too long for me to complete. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I attribute this to my focusing on preparing some dishes around the Thanksgiving holiday and my inability to focus on two endeavors simultaneously.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Nevertheless they're done now.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Oakland, CA, USA37.8043637 -122.271113737.4026477 -122.9165607 38.206079700000004 -121.6256667tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-30887583573901634702018-11-14T15:15:00.000-08:002018-11-14T15:27:08.248-08:00orange autumn light<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOqjZVWGIdxdT5JZ-D1apwINLFFrAn_JL4qe34dLokrS2ej4DHp3kwzpuQALXSIouhLytVmCbWljVfYlQSZlnp-Cl_aE7Z3xqSBkA3LddBz22pfrcAyZDFvmlE0_tC2u7axQgmW3_F7jlO/s1600/Orange.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOqjZVWGIdxdT5JZ-D1apwINLFFrAn_JL4qe34dLokrS2ej4DHp3kwzpuQALXSIouhLytVmCbWljVfYlQSZlnp-Cl_aE7Z3xqSBkA3LddBz22pfrcAyZDFvmlE0_tC2u7axQgmW3_F7jlO/s320/Orange.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">orange autumn light<br />lake merritt, oakland ca</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Lake Merritt, Oakland, CA, USA37.8012389 -122.2582989999999737.7886929 -122.27846899999996 37.8137849 -122.23812899999997tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-3157717486591578682018-11-14T15:10:00.003-08:002018-11-18T20:24:02.399-08:00Alabama<span style="font-size: large;">Updated & Completed - Nov. 18, 2018</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I want to assert that-- even though my previous post about Iowa featured a preface of hapless misadventure-- no conclusion should be drawn from the fact that my visit to the state of Alabama also begins inauspiciously.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">For one, I enjoyed Alabama far more than I did Iowa….</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When I was planning my trip to Alabama I asked a Birmingham-knowledgeable friend, Julie Walsh, to recommend where to go and what to do. Julie was immensely helpful (as is her nature). I still have her extensive document with great options of things to do while in Birmingham.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I regret to say I didn't go to all the places or do all the activities Julie recommended. But I feel I struck gold with the one recommendation I followed through with-- which was literally a dream.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">How I Got There and What Happened on the Way</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">What happened to me on my way to Birmingham could have happened to anyone. My flight itinerary was custom created to permit me an Amtrak sleeper car voyage from Birmingham to NYC, whence I'd go visit my parents. So I booked round-trip air from SFO to JFK.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Late in October 2013, I flew on a red-eye flight to Kennedy Airport, then took a cobbled-together series of brief flights JFK to Dulles, Dulles to ATL and ATL to BHM. At SFO, JFK and IAD I had to pass through TSA so I had my ID out. By the time I was in a cab in BHM, I realized my ID was MIA.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Could happen to anyone. How do you check in to a hotel without ID? Well, here's where an early arrival helps. You say to the front desk clerk “I'm arriving today, I've misplaced my ID, I hope to have a friend fax a copy of my passport to your attention, would that suffice for the ID required? In this case the answer was “yes”.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My dear friend Robin Dolan was able enter my apartment, where she located my passport (It pays to keep your passport in one easily described location). From there she was able to make a copy of the passport, fax it to the hotel in Birmingham and then-- dear heart that she is-- she FedExed the envelope to my parents' address (It helps-- when your driver's license is already lost--- to be headed ultimately to a destination where you are comfortable having your passport sent).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This concludes my tales of calamitous arrivals to destinations-- with the one exception to be told in the near future....that of the Trip to the Other Four Letter Destination.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Birmingham Experience</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br />
</b> <b>16th Street Baptist Church / Kelly Ingram Park </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Alabama’s and Birmingham's history entails anguished occurrences from which sense and purpose need to be drawn and empathy needs to be applied. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As a White man I cannot know the pain of racial discrimination or the terror of ethically motivated violence but travel and contemplation can bring anyone further understanding of that which one lacks firsthand knowledge.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">On the afternoon of the day I arrived, I went to respectfully pay a pilgrimage to the 16th Street Baptist Church where, in 1963, four young girls were murdered by a racist’s bomb.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The area seemed deserted that Saturday afternoon I visited. With few people around, a stillness pervaded the area that italicized the moment's solemnity for me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The 16th Street Baptist Church wasn't open. If it were, I may have not ventured to enter, as I don't regard places of worship tourist destinations. </span><span style="font-size: large;">One can make an intentional and possibly secular pilgrimage to a church for a service, but walking into such a place at an odd hour is not something I'd do.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It was sufficient for me to walk the sidewalk beside the church and sense the energy of prayer, hope, tragedy and resilience that reside in the structure.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Cattycorner to the church, at the edge of the four-acre Kelly Ingram Park is a statue of the young martyrs, girls depicted in joyful play. The spot served as another point for quiet contemplation.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Other statuary in Kelly Ingram Park contains other statuary commemorating moments in Alabaman images of my nation's continuing slow process to grant all their civil rights . One piece I recall brilliantly captured a widely viewed historical moment of desperation as it made me a participant in that moment.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As I walked along a path in the park I approached a wall with a doorway cut in it. Through the doorway I could see a distant statue of a lone firehose on a stand pointing towards the door.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As I passed through the doorway, on either side there were statues of figures crouching and thrown against the wall as if by the violent force of the firehose's spray. In that moment my own balance faltered, so real was the power of the imagined space of the statuary.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>A Trip </b><b>to Dreamland (I've Never Been to Jupiter….)</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Every time I'm in Berkeley I remember once hearing work colleague who lives there say, “Thursday night I went to Jupiter...." (Jupiter is a bar/restaurant on Shattuck Street in Berkeley.)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I've actually been to THAT Jupiter and-- on my visit to Birmingham-- I had the pleasure of visiting Dreamland.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">One of Julie Walsh’s recommendations about where to find good BBQ in Birmingham was an establishment named Dreamland.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">On the Sunday I was in the city I ate breakfast around 11am. I went back to my hotel, and checked out because I was spending my second night at another hotel, and stashed my bags with the bellman. I planned a leisurely walk to lunch at Dreamland but misjudged the length of the walk there….</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">At 12:45pm, there I was in Dreamland-- shamelessly eating lunch only and hour after finishing breakfast. I recall ordering ribs and chicken, mac and cheese, potato salad and sweet tea-- all delicious.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I sat at the establishment's bar and-- as I was dining alone-- I became engrossed in the several NFL games which played on multiple TV screens. I might have stayed longer but after two rapid-fire meals I was painfully in need of a nap, which would require my checking into my new hotel.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So, off I went. Miles to go before I napped.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>What is this Commemorative Plaque commemorating</b>?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes in my travels I will see something which is quite typical and then wonder about how atypical it might be. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When I think of having seen what I saw where I did and when I did, I suddenly feel feel the need to go back and double check to see whether or not I actually saw what I saw. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">One such discovery that I will have to double check someday is in Birmingham.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">After I checked in to my second hotel of my two night stay, I really couldn't nap so I went for a walk.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As I meandered the sidewalk, I noticed a commemorative plaque on the side of a building. The plaque commemorated the nation's first Veterans Day Parade, it said, which was held in Birmingham one day in the late 1800s.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My first thought about what I saw is “Hmm, interesting; that's a nice piece of trivia.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My next thought was to try to picture what that parade looked like.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Then it occurred to me that in the late 1800s, the majority of veterans living in Alabama actually were individuals who had not fought for the United States. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">While a veteran's Day Parade may seem both worthy and innocuous, a gathering of individuals who had fought for the Confederate States of America might actually be more terroristic than nostalgic to many of the citizens of Birmingham. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I do wonder about that parade-- who attended that day and who felt it would be best to keep the hell off the street and out of downtown Birmingham.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>A Lecture at the Local LGBT Establishment</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Sunday evening I went looking for Birmingham's nightlife. I tend to go out early-- when I do go out-- but if this was a typical Sunday night in Birmingham there is no nightlife there.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The establishment I went into had not much going on-- just about 6 guy sitting around a U-shaped bar. I ordered a cocktail and sat there listening to the lively conversation. I wasn't eavesdropping as the discussion was sufficiently loud that it was impossible not to hear every word. As I recall, there wasn't even any music playing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Out of the blue one of the fellows who was talking-- in fact the one was talking the most: a White fellow-- suddenly used in passing, completely comfortably, the N-word.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I was ambivalent about the company in the bar up until the moment the fellows that the word he did. Then ambivalence went out the window. I finish my drink quickly and I left.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Another spot was about a mile away down the street away so I walked the distance this next place was a bit more lively but I guess I wasn't really in and overall mood to socialize. I didn't hang out there too long either. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It was one cocktail and out, but at least I wasn't being propelled by the classless comments of an ignorant fool.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">On my way back, since I was going to go by the first establishment on my way to my hotel, I thought I might stop in again and see if the scenery had changed, as well as the dialogue.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It hadn't. By the time I realized it hadn’t, I was already in the door and had twelve sets of eyeballs on me. So, I sat down and I ordered a drink.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I had the drink for only a minute or so, when Mr. Ignorant Fool inquired, “So, did you leave earlier because I said (the N-word)?”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I said, “Yes”.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">He spoke as if he was the most reasonable person alive but I could tell he was offended that anyone would reject his company. He asked if I was from Birmingham.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I replied “No, I'm from Oakland”.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Thus began his mini-lecture: “What you have to understand is that down here we all say (the N-word)-- all of us. Even the (N-word)s. And no one minds because everyone knows what it means. You don't know what it means.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">He was goading me to ask him “what does it mean?”. But I was 100% sure he didn't have a good answer.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I finished my drink and left without another word.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My encounter with this fool was unfortunate and I don't mean to use him as an illustration of the typical Alabaman. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The Alabamans I know are principled, intelligent, caring people. (Perhaps by virtue of the fact that I know them…. Need I say, just kidding…)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I will return to Alabama-- definitely to see the Gulf Coast and to revisit Birmingham, to see if that plaque is still there and if it says what I thought it said, and especially to see any sites or attractions linked to Willie Mays's life and career.</span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">--------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Self assessment</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I tried to get this done dictating voice to text which naturally meant a hell of a lot of editing and rewriting. (Voice to text heard something I said in the section about my visit to Dreamland “I have boobs boobs” as if I was a weirdly insistent Erin Brockovich.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My general mood makes getting this entirely done impossible at this point but I am anxious (literally) to get some of it up at least…..</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-89559017604897576692018-11-10T13:36:00.000-08:002019-02-19T06:28:04.551-08:00red morn<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaE05902vf4MUviiNxcGgf-ml-MtgIPMi92HCvgrAi6pdftHhzMy8IUExZLNqdEMdPz9Czf1xBeA2km-PABqHkAwLP-b0gdoah7noWwomUK17cyN6QszoHOTLRU85dh_67URqDmUajNbVI/s1600/RedMorning%2528waiting+onasailor%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1169" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaE05902vf4MUviiNxcGgf-ml-MtgIPMi92HCvgrAi6pdftHhzMy8IUExZLNqdEMdPz9Czf1xBeA2km-PABqHkAwLP-b0gdoah7noWwomUK17cyN6QszoHOTLRU85dh_67URqDmUajNbVI/s320/RedMorning%2528waiting+onasailor%2529.jpg" width="233" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">red morn awaiting a sailor<br />13th street, oakland, ca</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Oakland, CA, USA37.8043637 -122.271113737.4026477 -122.9165607 38.206079700000004 -121.6256667tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-84251741994498065592018-11-10T12:23:00.001-08:002018-11-17T14:31:55.155-08:00The Klutz with the Clots<span style="font-size: large;">The Teaser: (composed Nov. 9, 2018) </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This first post of November 2018 is a meditation on my uncommon blood and what I did when doctors told me to ingest rat poison and also my recent reflection on being prescribed yet ANOTHER med.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As October 2018 ended and November began, I underwent a medical procedure-- two days later a consultation with medical specialist.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm going to write about my consultation with the specialist because you don't want to hear the story of my colonoscopy. (But, believe me, it’s a story…)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I inaugurated this blog's posts last month with comments about my unremarkable brain..</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">NOTE: Genealogically my blood is as common as anyone’s. What makes the stuff my heart pumps so unusual is its not one-- but two!-- genetic factors which makes it clot really really really well...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My Uncommon Blood </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Quite accidentally in July 2010, I ran a test on myself which revealed my blood contained not just the Factor V Leiden clotting factor but also the Factor II. This just means I clot like a beast. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">What was the test? Well, I don't really know. Midweek the first week of July I started to have pains in my left calf which I thought might be a charleyhorse, but which I couldn't stretch out.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Yadda yadda yadda -- clots in my lungs which required six days in the hospital.<br /><br />What I Did when Doctors Told Me to Ingest Rat Poison</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps you all recall those TV commercials with the late Arnold Palmer, comedian Kevin Nealon, basketball great Chris Bosch and some NASCAR star? They were advertising a prescription drug which helps folks with really clotty blood like mine.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Was I prescribed this medication? No. In 2010, my health insurance wouldn't pay for THAT medication.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Instead I was prescribed Wonder Drug of the 1950's: Warfarin.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Some of the details in the following History of Warfarin may be incorrect but basically:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1) Scientists develop a substance</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2) Scientist test substance on rats</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3) Rats die of internal hemmoraging</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4) Substance marketed as rat poison</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">5) Demand for rat poison wanes</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">6) Some nut decides substance can be used to treat folks with blood that clots like a beast if the people taking the substance can adhere to dietary limitations and, since those folks usually die really quickly anyway,...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">7) Wonder drug Warfarin introduced</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sixty years later-- I was told to ingest rat posion and given ridiculously impossible dietary restrictions to follow involving the intake of Vitamin K. Since the drug was introduced in back when men had wives who stayed at home (or cooks) who planned their meals, no problem looking out for that pesky Vitamin K.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When I insisted I didn't want to take the stupid medication anymore because I missed certain foods, my idiot doctors would insist: "no one said you couldn't have blueberries anymore, you just have to consistently eat 7 blueberries every day...."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">By 2014, it was decided I could take one low dose aspirin every day. Which I'm cool with....</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My current medical profession recently sent me to see a hematologist and the recommendation: now that the cost of the TV anticoagulant has dropped, it's time to take that...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Except--- I would have to watch out if I ever traveled to a remote location.... because, if I were injured there probably wouldn't be anyone with the antidote to the anticoagulant around....</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Now, I'm not big on traveling to remote locations-- it's not a fave for me like blueberries. But it's at lease something I enjoy as much as cranberries-- which also raised Warfarin warning flags.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Even more so, I know myself and have come to know myself better in light of my diagnosis as having depression and anxiety. While it may be oversimplifying the dual affliction, for me they lead to periods in which I am overcome with horrific inertia (depression) which simultaneously cause me such inner distress (anxiety) that I tend to hurl myself into action. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">(NOTE: I am actually completing this entry in one of those "hurlings")</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Knowing that I have this inclination explains why I can be a klutz at times-- I simply don't "stick the landing" well when I vault from wherever I've been sitting or laying in depressed inertia.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Recognizing this makes the idea of taking some medication which requires an antidote were I to injure myself VERY undesirable. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It really doesn't matter to me if I fall in the company of many people in an exotic locale or by myself at home-- in both instances, I could still bleed internally to death. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, please pass the baby aspirin....</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Self assessment</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In November, the added challenge will be sticking with the schedule I previously mentioned of posting between the 9th and 23rd of each month. I adopted this schedule assuming that a horrifically stressful but periodically resolvable situation would be on track to its periodic resolution. This situation hasn't been resolved so I am in anxiously uncharted territory. After dragging myself out of a multi-day emotional roadside ditch, I concluded that-- in order to proceed with and meet my schedule-- I'd make the adjustment of providing teasers for my posts whenever I cannot complete the entire post, then double back to complete it later. It, of course, complicates my overall task but it's all I can do. There's no point of getting even MORE depressed and anxious about shit.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Now I'm going to eat a shit-ton of blueberry coffee cake (and a piece of fruit!), post this to Facebook (but first a birthday shoutout to a college friend!), do a little cleanup on my post labels till 1:30p (and a maybe start this month's R O Y G B I V cycle), finish my coffee and go look for this farmers market in West Oakland I keep missing. (Didn't find it this time either.)</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Oakland, CA, USA37.8043637 -122.271113737.4026477 -122.9165607 38.206079700000004 -121.6256667tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-58773971852506291472018-10-24T02:00:00.003-07:002018-11-10T13:00:23.296-08:00Whither this Blog?<span style="font-size: large;">UPDATE</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I've had this phrase going through my head lately. It seems like an old adage or saying but the more I think about it the less sense it makes.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">(I refuse to Google it at this point but I may reconsider…)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Is there really a saying that goes: “Take care of the little things and the big things will take care of themselves”?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Don't Big Things always take care of themselves?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">About 3 weeks ago I had arrived at a decision that I was going to work on this blog-- at most-- for 2 weeks out of every month. And since I worked on the blog in October between the 9th through the 23rd, I decided I should do my monthly blog posts each month between the 9th through the 23rd.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Then I thought posts I might make in October… </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Then I didn't do make any of them…..</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Sooooo -- back to the original decision: my monthly blog posts will appear each month between the 9th through the 23rd.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Final answer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">__________________________</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Self assessment</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This blog post-- brief as it is-- was a long time coming. Just coming through a stretch of feeling no need or use in communicating. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Answer tba</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-71497300053992185802018-10-24T01:53:00.001-07:002018-11-10T13:00:43.022-08:00violet passion flower & R O Y G B I V<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3pedtz8jAz2tghytOPHhfTunA9ikWryOq7wBAnmXOqPoOSzkQeB3Q9QmQkJbjbUQdWW9srqPkDGyoprWxz_an-wv6hcsaorPKqrBOeNOwJrBv6WwjFCXKCc0nbW_e9VRAdLNZfAMJT64d/s1600/purple_passionflower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3pedtz8jAz2tghytOPHhfTunA9ikWryOq7wBAnmXOqPoOSzkQeB3Q9QmQkJbjbUQdWW9srqPkDGyoprWxz_an-wv6hcsaorPKqrBOeNOwJrBv6WwjFCXKCc0nbW_e9VRAdLNZfAMJT64d/s320/purple_passionflower.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">violet passion flower<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">san pablo avenue, oakland, ca</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Final photo from this first lap across the spectrum </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">_____________________________________________________</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">R O Y G B I V</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This was the proposal for an art exhibit I recently submitted to a gallery in SF. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I wasn't accepted. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps my photography wasn't good enough, perhaps they weren't interested in submissions from Oakland.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">____________________________________________________</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Name of Show: R O Y G B I V </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Tagline: A Rainbow Seen by Colorblind Gay Eye </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Photography by Donald Cooper</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Theme</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am one of the 10% of males who “suffer” from a specific type of color perception (aka “color blindness”) called a “red/green seeing deficiency”.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There's almost certainly a scientific name for the condition but “defect” is the word I remember being told I had that day in elementary school when I was tested and diagnosed. The news was shared with me in a pitying tone, I thought. The school nurse implied that the defect would hamper my pursuit of any number of careers careers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was even told I couldn't be a bus driver because I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between a red light and a green light.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, no one's perfect. We all have defects and talents to overcome them. I didn't let having a “defect” limit me...but the concerning idea that the rainbow I see may differ from what the “90%” sees stayed with me through the decades. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And I do see in color. I know “red” and “green”. Apples are red. And green too…. I didn't have a defect. Through trial and much error I learned not to make the sort of wardrobe choices that made me look like an escapee from a circus. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And I got very reluctant about discussing visual art. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But, for 17 years I had a job which allowed me to travel extensively and I learned I enjoyed photography. Investing in a genuine SLR never seemed practical-- given my “defect-- but did all right with a basic disposable camera.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In 2010, I finally got a phone which came with a decent camera…. And I finally had the capacity to challenge my longtime self-perception as “defective’.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Describe your work, your vision for the type of art you want to be exhibited on the second floor, and why you want to show it at Strut.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Capturing images of my home in the Bay-- as well as a handful of other locations-- started out as a pastime something which simply brings me joy. The Gay Bay is often seen exclusively as San Francisco’s clubs and organizations, and the sights and scenes of San Francisco. Of my 30 years in the Bay, Oakland has been my home for 16 years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Oakland’s unique combination of natural beauty and “hella” gritty realness has sharpened my eye to such qualities wherever I travel and has made me a more assured photographer. In fact, the photos I’ve contributed to Google Maps as a Local Guide have been viewed 538,000 times. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have visited 40 States (and DC) on my way to all 50 and have trained my eye to see details many might miss,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The significance of the rainbow is-- naturally-- the image of the Rainbow flag representing our LGBTQ community.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But R-O-Y-G-B-I-V also represents the range of color I was told I could never physically perceive. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As I facetiously recounted above, I spent decades doubting my</span><span style="font-size: large;"> “visual sense. I only gradually started to consider the images I took with my Nexus 5 phone “photography”, developing a love for the art past the age of 50. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">------------------------------------------------</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Self assessment</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This piece was already for the most part composed. It simply required some editing. Posted in the niddle of the night as a result of insomnia</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Oakland, CA, USA37.8043637 -122.271113737.4026477 -122.9165607 38.206079700000004 -121.6256667tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-20449503313929894752018-10-23T19:15:00.000-07:002018-11-10T13:01:14.132-08:00indigo cathedral with fairies<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaF1ZoatjhMYmCWvmHorIGO2PRu4NWF4SOv-kzoFZS5grW0Bv-Wn40STcyL4cOPyZKNPSPQIWdRfFPMzXHc75t7ZNoINFhBsyKfDnrDlM__P9YqMcx8xKolGolatWkiXsK8E1xNZE8TOYq/s1600/IndigoCathedralAndFairyland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaF1ZoatjhMYmCWvmHorIGO2PRu4NWF4SOv-kzoFZS5grW0Bv-Wn40STcyL4cOPyZKNPSPQIWdRfFPMzXHc75t7ZNoINFhBsyKfDnrDlM__P9YqMcx8xKolGolatWkiXsK8E1xNZE8TOYq/s320/IndigoCathedralAndFairyland.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">indigo cathedral with fairies<br />lakeside park, oakland, ca</span></td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Lake Merritt, Oakland, CA, USA37.8012389 -122.2582989999999737.7886929 -122.27846899999996 37.8137849 -122.23812899999997tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-25698343130523240802018-10-23T18:59:00.000-07:002018-11-19T05:14:13.679-08:00The Quake and Mrs. Eccleston<span style="font-size: large;">It’s been 29 years and a week since 1989’s Loma Prieta Earthquake; quake anniversaries are significant in the Bay Area so commemorations were abundant of late. It's funny how I remember a point in time most clearly sometimes by recalling my interaction with one person.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Most of my specific memories of the '89 quake are associated with my friend and coworker at Runaway Tours, Dorothy Eccleston.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Dorothy was a charming affable woman in her 70s who was very much comfortable as a peer among us 20-something pseudo-bohemians. She lived with her mentally challenged adult daughter, Andrea, in a small tidy apartment in San Francisco's Tenderloin. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Her husband, Dr. Eccleston was deceased. He had been an obstetrician who, Dorothy attested, would say of every baby he delivered-- not matter how ugly---, “Now THAT’S a baby!”.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Dorothy and Andrea subsisted on Andrea's social security and Dorothy’s meagre earnings from Runaway. As reservation agents, both Dorothy and I were entitled to a commission over a certain threshold--- I don't recall ever making commission but Dorothy's cheerful attentiveness in her dealings with travel agents who were the company’s clients made her one of their favorites.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Undoubtedly, Dorothy netted commission frequently. Nevertheless, she often spoke with dread about being only a paycheck away from the street,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Despite any existential concerns Dorothy Eccleston was the purest version of a bon vivant: she still kept up her season tickets to the San Francisco Opera and spoke rapturously of the performances she attended. She had gentlemen friends: I recall her giddy account of an outing on the weekend to one of the local race tracks. She laughingly recounted how-- after a few glasses of champagne-- she’d applauded a race finish so enthusiastically her rings flew off her fingers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We were all at work late in the afternoon October 17, 1989 when the Loma Prieta Earthquake entered our lives.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Our offices were then on Union Square and the building, 291 Geary, was actually two buildings somehow lashed together. The building was quite “live”. In describing it to my cousin, I once mentioned that the office seemed to move when one of the “big girls” walked through the office. My cousin chided me for making a sexist remark-- I replied in SF, “big girl” didn't apply exclusively to females.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I was on the phone with a travel agent in San Jose at a few minutes after 5 o'clock</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Out of the blue she said, "Oh my God. We're having an earthquake!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">At the second she said that, all was calm in SF but before I could say "Really?", suddenly our building started shaking violently. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The quake was 17 seconds of sheer terror--- as if the building that you were in suddenly an airliner in the midst of horrific turbulence. It went like this: shakeshakeShakeShakeSHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKEShakeShakeshakeSLAMSHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKEShakeShakeshakeshakeshakeShakeShakeshakeshakeshakeshake.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As it began someone yelled “Get under your desks” and we did. Dorothy cries of worry for Andrea who pealed out and each of us-- imagining she was running about-- yelled back, “Dorothy, get under your desk”. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">After the fifth such direction to her, she rather bluntly replied “I AM UNDER MY DESK!!!”</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When the shaking stopped, we evacuated into Union Square and milled about unsure of what to do or where to go as San Franciscans must have in 1906. People asked, “Are you </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">okay?” and said “oh my God” a lot. Someone with a transistor radio cried out, “The Bay Bridge collapsed!” and I wondered how since from the Square I could still see the top of one of the suspension section’s towers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Dorothy was understandably anxious to get back to her apartment to check on her daughter. A handful of us accompanied her up Geary Street into the Tenderloin. At her building we climbed five flights of darkened stairs to her floor. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When we reached Andrea, I recall her being fortunately quite calm, more concerned about her mother-- I guess it runs in the family.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As the initial relief of the reunion ebbed and I announced I was going to head to my boyfriend's apartment, Dorothy turned to me. She and Andrea owned two flashlights and I was about to be sent on a mission of mercy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Donald,” Dorothy urgently explained, “You have to take this flashlight to my friend upstairs on the sixth floor. She’s an elderly woman and with the power out she must be terrified. Bring her this flashlight and tell her it’s from Dorothy.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I agreed to do so, silently marvelling at Dorothy’s perception of her neighbor as bing “elderly”. I climbed another flight of darkened stairs and peered down the sixth floor hallway. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As I proceeded along in the twilit quake-shook dusty space, it seemed that every apartment door was wide open and in each stood an at least somewhat terrified elderly lady-- partly terrified from the quake, and probably by the fact that, in its wake, a strange man was stalking down their hall, peering in their apartments. Regardless, I felt I had to solve the puzzle of just to whom I should deliver the flashlight.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I received the incentive to solve the puzzle as the quakes first powerful aftershock hit. As the building shimmied, I turned to the nearest elderly lady, pressed the flashlight into her hands and yelled, “Dorothy wants you to have this!”. With that I fled, exiting to Geary Street and made my way to the home of my boyfriend-at-the-time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">For weeks after that day such aftershocks continued happening at uncertain intervals, morning noon and night. The random terrestrial echos of Loma Prieta wore nerves down and going to stand in a doorway for protection got to be rote and annoying, I recall watching a segment on aftershocks on the local evening news during which an aftershock struck.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But I must note that, on the day of the quake I witnessed a sort of shell-shocked benevolence from everyone I saw from Union Square to the Western Addition to Alamo Square. Out of a newly discovered sense of shared frailty people began looking out for each other; for example. as there were no traffic signals operating civilians even stood in intersections, directing traffic. This I witnessed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The quake shook common purpose out of us all and ruptured the lines that alienated one from the other. A lot of good was unleashed on October 17, 1989. Years later, I heard a phrase that rang out most truth listening to a CD I'd bought outside a supermarket from an aspiring hiphop artist. “The only time we deal with one another's when there's an earthquake”.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Loma Prieta Earthquake, of course, took lives and those aftershocks left scars.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Ten days after the quake my friend Robin Dolan and I took BART into Oakland to see Eurythmics at the Kaiser Auditorium. The train rolled past the collapsed Cypress Freeway where several lost lives-- their l. As the concert began, Annie Lennox strutted on stage asking us all “How are you doing Bay Area”? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We were okay just then-- some of us. Qr just starting to begin to be okay. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">After the quake, Dorothy became even more anxious about Andrea and phobic of going pretty much anywhere. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">She stopped going to the opera. She offered me her tickets to a performance of Tannhauser and wished me well. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As I climbed all the stairs to her nosebleed seats, I recall seeing the many cracks running through the walls of the Opera House stairwell.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">-------------</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Self Assessment</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This was hard. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I began this account about a traumatic experience while waiting in Oakland's Housing Assistance Center-- ground zero for anxiety. I had paperwork to fill in to challenge a capricious rent increase but I have made an appointment with an attorney and will fill in the paperwork with her. I'm writing this to step out of the stress of the moment. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The attorney appointment this Wednesday was the victory I sought on Monday. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My city's current rental plight is this day's earthquake of greed, taking lives and leaving many unsheltered.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I completed this Tuesday afternoon. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">In the morning I attended a poll workers' training and, although I'd had a full night's sleep, an hour and a half in, I became sleepy and was almost unable to concentrate. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">After a short break two and quarter hours in, the course went on for another hour and I grew edgy and-- internally-- upset.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I was ravenously hungry when I got home so I cooked and ate lunch then wrote for an hour and a half but grew weary. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I posted this in the evening, after wrapping up just before 7pm.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It'll undoubtedly will need clean up.</span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Oakland, CA, USA37.8043637 -122.271113737.4026477 -122.9165607 38.206079700000004 -121.6256667tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-31191818429796316912018-10-21T11:05:00.001-07:002018-11-10T13:29:51.044-08:00blue twilight<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMeRkdWzOjwh6TDWHwR66zD0ifXASKh0J9ubwjA9AHvKxjnwY2sWUb0cDwIIsR1Y50mXpyGehtmH7mIFNZSvidG9Q7rl2jrp1Op98G4n9loeVrnXW5CKXXsGapFLm3JNuE4rZMfHynxZlz/s1600/blue+twilight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMeRkdWzOjwh6TDWHwR66zD0ifXASKh0J9ubwjA9AHvKxjnwY2sWUb0cDwIIsR1Y50mXpyGehtmH7mIFNZSvidG9Q7rl2jrp1Op98G4n9loeVrnXW5CKXXsGapFLm3JNuE4rZMfHynxZlz/s320/blue+twilight.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">blue twilight<br />
the pergola, lakeside park, oakland, ca</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0599 El Embarcadero, Oakland, CA 94610, USA37.8085518 -122.2497440000000213.034475299999997 -163.55833800000002 62.582628299999996 -80.941150000000022tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-36548071311949160792018-10-20T17:42:00.002-07:002018-11-22T12:11:29.232-08:00Karaoke Tunes - You're Only Lonely<span style="font-size: large;">If “So I Heard” exists to present songs that I especially admire, I guess the best indication of my admiration of a song would be the fact that I attempt it or assail it when at Karaoke.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So that is the meaning of “Karaoke Tunes”.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I love both the lyric and the melody of J.D. Souther's “You're Only Lonely”.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">If the KJ can modulate the key of a song, this song is absolutely one that I ask to be taken down at least three keys-- or else my rendition of it is far less than lovely.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This song should not be confused with Roy Orbison's “Only the Lonely” which is an anthem for every lonely soul.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">While “You're Only Lonely” has a sound-alike title, the lyric is a heartwarming and tender address from one vulnerable person to another pledging understanding if contacted for the mere reason of loneliness.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The original performer, J.D. Souther, has a estimable body of work. Though possibly largely unknown to most pop and rock followers, he is by no means obscure.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Souther may be regarded as a one hit wonder. “You're Only Lonely’ is his only solo recording to chart in the Top 40, but he can be heard dueting with James Taylor on 1981’s “Her Town Too”. He also co-wrote an Eagles hit or two including "Best of My Love", "Heartache Tonight", and "New Kid in Town".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">(An Indugence While on This Topic/Tangent: I must note that another karaoke fave of mine is “Best of My Love”.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Once, when I put in that song title for karaoke, when I got the mic I was surprised to discover that-- while the karaoke book listed the Eagles song-- the track that came on was the Maurice White-penned “Best of My Love” performed by the Emotions.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Unfazed, I performed the lyrics of the Eagles song--as I remembered them-- to the tune of the Emotions song.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The refrain of both is the same:“Oh-oh-oh-OH! You got/get the best of my love, etc.” The one difference; the Eagles say “Sweet darling”.)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">J.D. Souther</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">You're Only Lonely</span><br />
<a href="https://youtu.be/quglprlSQ8k"><span style="font-size: large;">https://youtu.be/quglprlSQ8k</span></a><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't own the rights to this song or performance.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The link is offered to facilitate an appreciation of the song named.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">--------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Self Assessment</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This post gestated a long while in concept so was relatively easy to write given my connection to the song. As with the previous written posts, I imaging some cleanup will be necessary</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Oakland, CA, USA37.8043637 -122.271113737.4026477 -122.9165607 38.206079700000004 -121.6256667tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-37545170506977603082018-10-18T20:05:00.001-07:002018-11-10T13:03:16.428-08:00green view<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS8vVMyyKMhpTKQRvQQeHm71SV9m27Z8zRQYT7ec2yH_aHmaGLTPxv0eEQqCYhyUa8PWCWC7otSu7Wg_ICyyy1ZBoZPL7hiOBG-qEPUTL-GrTOT0Hey-SE96g4ld2Udq9_jfAQhTD-3-ZT/s1600/GreenView.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS8vVMyyKMhpTKQRvQQeHm71SV9m27Z8zRQYT7ec2yH_aHmaGLTPxv0eEQqCYhyUa8PWCWC7otSu7Wg_ICyyy1ZBoZPL7hiOBG-qEPUTL-GrTOT0Hey-SE96g4ld2Udq9_jfAQhTD-3-ZT/s320/GreenView.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">green view<br />
calverton nat'l. cemetery, wading river, ny</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The next image from R O Y G B I VUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0Calverton, NY, USA40.906487299999988 -72.743433140.810489299999986 -72.9047946 41.002485299999989 -72.5820716tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7436558634639672853.post-56527565630034628752018-10-18T19:40:00.001-07:002018-11-14T15:07:34.649-08:00Iowa<span style="font-size: large;">Iowa - State #36</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>"I hate hate hate Temecula </i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"> On a level that's almost moleculah"</span></i><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This is one of several rhymes I invented with my friend Eric Birnbaum to keep ourselves laughing and sane during our days in the travel industry.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'd never been to Temecula. I don't know whether I really would hate it on a level that's almost molecular. Temecula was once described to me by friends who'd been there as a decidedly lackluster town where one building housed the local fine arts center and the town jail.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But never mind: I'm not trying to discuss Temecula. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm here to discuss the state of Iowa.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> "<i>I hate hate hate <b><u>hate</u></b> Iowa </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> And if you ask why, I'll reply, 'Uh, duh'”</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As I mentioned earlier, I find something to love about most places-- but one place I've been which rubbed me all the way the wrong way is the state of Iowa.*</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My Arrival</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I arrived in Iowa on public transit: a city bus. I boarded the bus in Omaha, having “detrained” from Amtrak's California Zephyr a few hours earlier.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My departure from the train began with the sleeping car attendant’s cheerful wake-up notice: "YOU HAVE TO GET OFF THE TRAIN NOW!!" </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Several slapstick minutes ensued as I hastily packed and tried to locate my wallet and was essentially thrown off the slowly moving train onto the siding along with my bags. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The Zephyr chugged away.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I sat awhile in the sad modern one story Amtrak station situated between Omaha’s TWO rail palaces. In the station’s molded plastic peace, I located my wallet in my luggage and tried to unjangle my nerves.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Dauntlessly, I then proceeded out to catch a local bus to cross the river--- and discover Council Bluffs, IA.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Council Bluffs</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The name Council Bluffs conjures an image of an earnest windswept hamlet perched high above the mighty Missouri.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The bus instead deposited me with my wheely in what appeared to be a forlorn industrial park. I'd misjudged my stop and was still about a mile from my destination.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In the still June morning, everything was flat (no bluffs). There was no view but everywhere that there wasn't lawn there was asphalt. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I saw a Bass Pro megastore. I saw an Applebee's. I saw a strip club.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I wended my way to the distant Hilton Garden inn.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">When I found it, I was surprised to discover it was connected to a casino, and on the far side of the casino, another undistinguished hotel.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This entire gaming complex sat beside a large factory which, given its smell, served to produce any number of noxious chemical concoctions used in agriculture. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The “Iowa Way”</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It was early so I didn't expect I'd get a room right away. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I did get something unexpected-- big time front desk attitude. I acknowledged my early arrival and </span><span style="font-size: large;">acknowledged </span><span style="font-size: large;">I knew that being assigned a room would be a courtesy.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I believe the charming reply I got was, “Well, you'll have to wait.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I parked myself on an ugly lobby couch and sipped nasty lobby coffee. After twenty minutes of looking cheerfully expectant as several parties arrived after me and received rooms, I opted instead to look sullen and irritated, hoping the front desk would give me a room just to relieve themselves of their view of me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">After two hours, there was an apparent shift change. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I stepped up and asked the new desk clerk “Yes yes, I know I'm terribly early but might be assigned a room?”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The new clerk fairly quickly found me a room.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Memories of your Stay in Iowa"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I recall that there might have been in issue with the room key and the need to exchange it for another key but why make that part of the narrative? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Why continue to tell of going to eat at the casino buffet and discovering , that unlike most casino food outlets, this one was extravagantly expensive?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The die of my Iowa experience had been cast in that lobby and for the next 24 hours there was no way I could learn the love this place.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I woke next morning, had the lobby breakfast included in the room rate, grabbed my bag, checked out and was soon waiting for the city bus back to my comparatively beloved Omaha.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Did I Give Iowa a Chance to Unspool her Charm?</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">One night does seem like short shrift and I believe I haven't fully enjoyed some states in which I passed only one night. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Texas definitely, Utah almost certainly, very likely Arkansas when I get there. (I intend to “cross-river-one-night” on a return trip to Memphis).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But, Iowa…. No. Girl, you had your chance and you showed me all kinds of ugly.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Who can say what rural dystopian shocks would await one in yet another night in Iowa?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Next up: I'll discuss some place I found charming. I haven't decided which-- most places I've been qualify.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">* This account is not the experience I had two years earlier when I crossed the Bob Kerrey Pedestrian Bridge from Omaha into Iowa in 100° heat and posted on Facebook these words: I am abandoning this expedition into Iowa. Iowa is uninhabitable.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Self Assessment</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This piece wasn't written cold. It's an account of actual occurrences, really its composition involved deciding how much of the history of a bad bit of travel I wanted to share. I'd begun composing it on a walk and sat down to write. This slight effort took just over three hours to complete-- it seems to make sense that a piece about a place remembered bad memories would inspire a written piece which can be completed briskly . I'm sure it will need some cleaning up.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0