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Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Mississippi Post: True Devastation

Today, my sister-in-law, MaryAnn drove myself and her mother, Jean, down to one of the most devasted area along the Gulf Coast. As we cruised slowly along I-90 and through the towns of Bay St. Louis, Pass Christian and Waveland, the images were beyond comprehension. Entire blocks of homes, entire neighborhoods, entire towns - GONE.

It's a rare day when I find myself speechless but today was certainly one. Frames of former mansions stood bare and naked in the midday sun. Personal items and bits of clothing hung from bare branches while other trees were bent over at the base, their spines cracked by the cruel hand of wind. The tropical heads of palm trees were decapitated clean, their headless bodies looked especially ghoulish along an otherwise beautiful beach.

What is most striking about the devastation is the lack of color. The once rolling green lawns have been killed by seawater and replaced by a blanket of beige sand; without leaves, bushes or foliage of any kind, the scene appears brown, muted and very dead.

Honestly, I am really struggling here to fully describe what I am have seen. In fact, I'm not sure I ever learned the proper meanings of certain words until today. "Severe" and "surreal" and "incomprehensible" come close but language, unless spray painted on a plywood sign along with a FEMA case number, simply can't get the job done here.

I kept hearing Jean, a survivor of the infamous Hurricane Camille in 1969, gasping from the back seat, "Gracious sakes alive!" and "Lord have mercy!" Her words seemed to fit so I just kept quiet and slowly hobbled out of the car (see previous post) now and again to snap a photo.

But even photography felt futile. I thought I would be thrilled about documenting this historical event but the enormity of it all is simply overwhelming. Viewing TV footage or seeing AP photos can only provide the tiniest clue for what to expect. Taking it in with your own set of faculties, seeing mile after mile after mile of it, your eyes almost become accustomed to seeing a couch stuck in a tree or spiral staircase corkscrewing up from the sand. It's not like a bomb went off here, it is like MANY bombs went off here. Very large ones.

Furthermore, the photos were harder to take than I'd imagined because of the obvious emotional toll this has cost. Lives that were not lost here were certainly ruined and if not ruined, than highly inconvenienced for a tremendously long time. Antebellum homes that had been in families for decades have little to show for this history save for a cement foundation or fancy front porch steps leading to nowhere. Roads that once hosted busy seaside traffic are now blocked and over run with sand. Giant oaks are twisted and mangled together, frozen in a macabre gnarled pose, where someone's living room once hosted daily episodes of a family's life.

I just kept thinking the same thing over and over: Nature has come to reclaim what was hers. We were foolish to think we could "own" a square of dirt and proclaim ourselves ruler. Evidently, she can take it back anytime she wants.

At last I'm a true horsewoman. Yesterday, a huge white Canadian Warmblood named Oscar threw me over his head to make a point. I'm not sure what his message was, other than 'I'm bigger than you' - he even sauntered over and gave me a regretful sniff with his huge nostrils as I lay there windless.

My sister-in-law, Carol, was riding the equine matriarch, Scarlett, and was at my side so fast, it was impressive. Somehow, she'd found my glasses and had them back on my head before my eyes even popped open again. She took both horses back to the barn and left me there with instructions: "Don't move!!!" which, of course, I ignored.

Checking all the parts, one extremity at a time, I could surmise all by myself that everything still worked. Still, my lower left back was hurting and my left leg felt tingly. The top right corner (yes, I now had a corner) of my head was bumped and bruised. My ego took the biggest hit.

Oddly enough, it was an initiation of sorts. So often I have heard the stories from my fellow riders about " . . . this one time I went flying . . . " or " . . . he flipped me right over the top . . . " but I had nothing to contribute. My own mother, Iva Mae, who rode a pony (bareback, of course) to school growing up in North Dakota, would talk about Betsy, who let her know when she was done by ejecting my mother onto school grounds.

At last, I am broken in.

Monday, December 26, 2005

Mississippi Post: Seeing is Believing

My father picked me up from Louis Armstrong International Airport on Christmas morning. I had boarded the plane on Xmas Eve at 11:30 p.m., rather inebriated on rich food, expensive whiskey and a smidgen of my homestate's finest wacky weed. After a red eye flight, with a two-hour layover in Chicago, I was dead dog tired, exactly how I'd planned it; I was bracing myself. After all the reading, watching and listening, I was soon going to see first hand the effects of Katrina's rage.

Coming west on Interstate 10 to Ocean Springs, Mississippi to where RMAC live (that's Robert and MaryAnn Clisby, my brother and his wife), it took us about an hour or so. My father is retired 34 years and, therefore, is the slowest driver alive - this was the one time I didn't mind. We swung past the AstroDome and parts of downtown, lots of building fronts gone. Already I could tell that the blue tarp was going to be a familiar site. Heading out of town on the above highway, I could look down into neighborhoods clearly forgotten, most with spray paint still on the front declaring the number alive or dead. I plan to revist New Orleans later this week. I have a beloved friend - a radio station actually - that I need to check on.

It was the side of road that held the most ghoulish images for me. Still strewn with bits of trash and every ten miles or so, a stove or refridgerator, smashed into a ball. It is strangely disturbing seeing indoor items . . . outdoor - there is a certain vulnerability you feel when you come upon someone's bedroom dresser in the open air and there are leaves on it. There but for the grace of God, and all that jazz.

Already, I've become accustomed to seeing piles of debris, twisted metal and tree after tree snapped in half. There are lots filled with FEMA trailers (which leak, I understand) and row upon endless row of damaged cars, all sadly sitting in the sun, silent and useless. Motorhomes are parked willy nilly and signs are blown out - even Micky D's hasn't gotten around to fixing their golden arches.

Once I arrived at RMAC HQ, they wasted little time in loading me into the dunebuggy (which is more of a deluxe gocart) and they took me around the neighborhood. Though RMACE lost the entire first floor of their beautiful Gulf Hills home, many of their neigbors did not fare so well. "Devastation" is the only word that truly fits here and even then, words fail. One neighbor defiantly parked their trailer right into the shell of their former home, refusing to leave. Spray-painted plywood signs express rage at insurance adjusters and their ilk.

Nevertheless, there are bits of optimism everywhere - lots of "We're Hiring!" signs and entrepeneurs offering much needed services: "HOUSE GUTIN" (gutting). The stubborn pride of Southern folks and the spirit of the season has resulted in a singular mission: persevere.

As we left the scene of one former home, Robert spotted a perfect yellow sunflower, poking up defiantly through a pile of trash. Its spine was straight and its face a perfect sunny yellow. It is sobering to think that the flower and the hurricane both have the same ancestry and share the same Mother Nature.

Saturday, December 24, 2005

I'm Old But I'm Rich

It's taken me exactly one week to finally absorb all the love directed at me on my 40th birthday. My cousin, Ryan - who is really more of a younger brother - orchestrated the event with quiet tenacity. Old friends flew in or drove from Oceanside, Long Beach, Yorba Linda and, amazingly, Albququerque.

Ironically, I fretted all week about's prediction that it would rain since we had envisioned an elaborate outdoor BBQ/firepit/deck scene. All those pretty lights we'd planned to put in the trees! How would we cook? Would everyone fit in the house? Not only did it rain but it was torrential, the Chronicle called it "the worst storm of the season." Sure, it may have kept a few folks away but my truest friends are the heartiest souls. We had about 50 folks who made the trek, including the hero of the evening, David Jacobson, who drove the birthday cake (a delicious green battlefield of cowboys and Indians) from Foster City.

Deep into the evening, my best friend, Lisa Friedman, presented to me a large black scrapbook that contained "Heather memories and photos" submitted by friends from various eras of my life. The effort it took for people to put their feelings down, for Lisa to collect and create the book was enough to knock me over. My magical friend, Heidi Nye, then stood to perform an exquisite poem she had written in my honor: "A Heather Resplendent."

In that delicate breathy voice of hers, unafraid and full of love, she spoke to the room about how she sees me, her friend, and . . . well, let's just say, it brought down the house. When she finished, there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Heidi's poems have that effect on people.

All of this and despite the rain, a firepit and BBQ thrived in the backyard, under a carefully placed blue tarp. The best part, guests continually complimented me on the quality of the other guests. The variety of people I choose to drag along with me in this life is deliberate and I take the matter very seriously.

For several days now, as I have prepared to take on all that is Christmas, I ponder the many coats of love and affection that were wrapped around me and I wonder, "Is this woman that they love the same woman who wears my skin every day?" If so, I'll have put all that fretful self-loathing on hold for a little while. At least until next year.

Merry Christmakuh all!

HEAD'S UP: This evening, I fly to New Orleans and will be posting blogs from the Gulf Coast until I return on January 3rd. I fear all my favorite places will be gone and the mood will be depressing. I will be ringing in the New Year with folks who got a clean slate whether they wanted one or not.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Torture Starts Early

Perhaps I am the only one to notice but two of this week's headlines got me laughing - not in a healthy way, mind you. My giggles came from a very dark place, a part of my soul that knows we humanoids are doomed. Since I am not a big fan of the species, I find this hilarious.

To wit:

"Researchers Find Barbie Often Mutilated" by Jill Lawless (I shit you not) of the Associated Press.

"Torture is Us. Denial Does No One Any Good" by Mark Morford, San Francisco Chronicle.

Seems it starts early. Personally, I did a lot of nasty things to my Barbie but they were usually of a sexual nature and Ken was almost always egging me on.

Friday, December 16, 2005

Goodbye Youth!

Yup. Last day of being in my 30s and I find myself pretty unemotional about it. This is the first year I've heard "40 is the new 30" so, if nothing else, my timing is impeccable.

George Carlin was recently asked about his age and he had this response:

"There were handicaps to being 10, there were handicaps to being 40, but the richness of memory, the richness of acquired and accumulated experience and wisdom, I won't trade that. At 68 I'm every age I ever was. I always think of that. I'm not just 68. I'm also 55 and 21 and three. Oh, especially three."

He's so right. Like a tree, we just keep adding the rings . . . actually today I feel fat so this theory is especially fitting.

Anyway, so long 30s! Good riddance! You were fun for the most part though there were some awfully dark times between 35-38 that I'd rather forget. I embrace this brand new decade full of promise and, maybe even possibly, maturity.

My birthday gift to myself will be finding a job that gives me joy and maybe even a relationship that enhances my time on this Earth. Oh yeah, and a horse. Yes, my 9-year-old definitely needs a pony . . .

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

A Proud Beast Goes Down

Last night, I saw Peter Jackson's long-awaited epic, "King Kong" and it had a strange effect on me. Though various reviewers will inevitably pan the wooden dialogue or quibble historical accuracies, Jackson artfully captured a universal pain in raw form: Loneliness.

Specifically, here, the loneliness of a giant beast who lives solo on an island as the last of his kind. He's getting up there in years and every day he rambles past the bleached white bones of his ancestors and he huffs and snorts to no one in particular. Just as he finds a friend, a beautiful companion that entertains him and fits in the palm of his hand, he is shackled and then slaughtered. Illustrated in such primitive terms, it reminded me how basic our needs are and how little they differ from other beings, whether they share our form or not.

So, I'm contemplating all this last night as I settle in to bed. Lights out and drifting off, I suddenly sense I am being watched. I open one eye and make out the silhouette of my feline sidekick, Simone. Though her nighttime 'spot' is usually at the end of the bed, on this particular evening, it clearly wasn't going to do. I opened the blankets, laid out my arm and watched her eagerly settle in. Then, to my amazement, she did something she'd never done before: She put her head in my palm of my hand and purred so loud I thought the blankets would vibrate right off the bed. It was a different type of purr, deeper and longer than usual. It was . . . well, emphatic.

Right about then I caught sight of the clock, saw that it was just past midnight and realized the State of California had just executed Stanley 'Tookie' Williams. Still in the dark, holding a grateful animal's head in my hand, I pictured Williams clinging to the top of the Empire State Building, a swarm of planes circling him and firing rounds as he swipes and roars.

In the end, of course, both proud males lost the battle but went down knowing that they had overcome obstacles that once seemed insurmountable. Death doesn't change that.

I woke up today with an overwhelming feeling of sadness - for a ex-gangster I'd never met, a giant gorilla that never existed and for the rest of us, left here to realize that their wasteful deaths did not erase any tragic events or fill any aching voids, they only deepened the wound within us all.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Some Are Irreplaceable

Though I was just an awkward teen when he was gunned down, I remember very clearly the day John Lennon died. My friends and I gathered in the quad area at Bancroft Junior High and fumbled with adult words we'd never previously spoken.

"I've never seen my mother cry before, until this morning," said Pat McCann, one of the more popular kids in school, who suddenly looked very much like a little boy. "I didn't even know . . . she said it was hard to explain what he'd meant to the world. " We all just nodded in silence, because we just didn't know either. From our parents emotional reactions and the news headlines that screamed between the lines, "Noooooooooo!", we got a sense but really, we couldn't get our still-growing arms around it.

How could we possibly know what John Lennon signified when we were just barely entering a world of zits and periods and Reaganism? Rock and roll had always been, as far as we were concerned, war only existed in our history textbooks and 'Beatlemania' was a nostalgia tour manned by look-alikes.

Well, now I know. Today, I'm honored to have walked the Earth at the same time as John for as long as I did and wonder why he had to be taken from us so soon. Certainly this is not an original thought but 16 years later, it is more obvious than ever - we could really use him right about now.

RIP John.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Because we are moving offices this week, I was forced to pack up my professional life and quickly came to realize I have too much shit. Of course, this is an excellent practice run for when The Real Move comes in February but on a much smaller scale. After several days of this nasty job, I declare myself a die-hard hoarder of sentiment, primarily in paper form. I am, it seems, my mother's daughter.

For example, I insist on keeping the business card of my friend, Jack - who died much too soon - in my Rolodex. If my surly pals, Mark and Pete, cc me on a particularly grumpy exchange, I cannot resist printing it out and stowing it in my 'Curmudgeons I Love' file. Invites to corporate parties from long ago, name tags that made me sound important (my favorite: "Heather Clisby, The New York Times") and clever comic strips that captured a brief moment in history - I've got this crap in endless stacks. What does it matter? What am I keeping it for? How often will I go back and actually find it relevant? Especially now that Google is here?

I rationalize it the way I do when I miss a new episode of 'The Simpsons.' My final years will most likely be spent infirm and inactive. Plenty of time to reminisce through old letters and catch up on DVD box sets, seasons 1-27 . . . right? And then?

And then, trapped in the old folks home, I'll have to bribe a corrupt nurse to buy marshmallows, sweep it all in a big pile and light it ablaze. All those humorous observations and heartfelt sentiments will go up without hesitation, in a violent conflagration of evidence that I was ever here at all.

Monday, December 05, 2005

Back in the Saddle

It's always fun to make a cliche literal and yesterday, I did just that after finally getting on a horse again after three loooooong months of elbow rehab. At the risk of sounding corny, it felt like someone had opened up my cranium and shined a light into it allowing bats, spiders and other dark creatures to make their escape.

There are a few folks on the planet who may understand my spiritual need for horses (Hi Leslie!) but since it has come so late in my life, I remain mystified by it. The riding is only a small part of it; the grooming and tacking are enough to make me giddy. I once spent hours pulling ticks off my equine friend, Robin, assisted by another horse lover, Erika, and we both agreed it was one of the best days ever.

People connect to the universal energy - which some assign to a deity such as "God" or "Allah" or "Allan Greenspan" - in different ways. Though I love to photograph churches and temples, my soul gets no substanance from these man-made structures. The Grand Canyon and a perfectly ripe strawberry come close to stirring my soul but animals really do it for me, horses specifically. They are a direct conduit to that invisible force that drives it all forward.

I must have spent an hour on Sunday hanging out with my friend Roxy, a white horse voted "Most Likely to be a Unicorn" by us groupies. Since she is privately owned, I cannot ride her but we passed the time playing the Lip Game. I hide horse cookies on my person and she uses her powerful front lip (so very similar to an elephant's trunk) going through all my pockets. In between, she licks my hand and lets me make weird faces with her mouth. She also lets me rub her gums and tries to pull my jacket off with her teeth. Times like this, I have not a care in the world.

Okay, now I've gone kookie. Still, I make no apologies. Horses are my official Mental Health Plan and the absence of them has proven it beyond a doubt. I'm so glad to be back, scooping horse poop and getting bathed in their slobber - otherwise, life is awfully dark.

Friday, December 02, 2005

So Much Gray In Between

It's Friday, I'm dressed for a party and I've got racism on my mind.

This morning, as listened to Smart Folks debate the immigration issue, I recalled a conversation with a conservative uncle I had recently. As a retired farmer in Iowa, he had some ideas about the browning of America.

"I heard that down there in Southern California the Mexicans are taking over," he said, with disgust.

"You mean taking it BACK?" I countered. Appealing to what he might know best, I offered that if one were to remove all the Mexicans from California, the state's economy would collapse. "Who is going to work in those fields? You? Your son? Me?"

Then, I boarded the bus and read about a little-known movie called "C.S.A.: The Confederate States of America" which portrays an America in which the South won the Civil War. We're talking President Jefferson Davis, a truce with Hitler and slaves sold on QVC. There's even a shot of Neil Armstrong on the moon, a Rebel flag stands proudly behind him.

I love this kind of thing and applaud the crazy ass filmmaker who dared it. Ken Wilmott, a black man, is said genius and he states: "Hollywood doesn't make movies about racism because it makes us uncomfortable. Black folks get angry and ashamed, white folks feel guilty and afraid and nothing moves forward. And we won't talk about it until something slaps us upside the face."

As a white woman, I'm not supposed to have much of an opinion on these matters but they still bother me. Ever see "White Man's Burden?" Probably not. Hardly anyone did but it was one of the most provocative films I ever saw on the topic.

Written and directed by Desmond Nakano and released in 1995, it also turns modern history on its head. Starring John Travolta and Harry Belafonte, all the black/white stereotypes are reversed. White folks are oppressed and living in the ghettos. Black folks are the elite and have all the money. White folks get profiled and beaten by unsympathetic black cops. Black folks hold high society fundraising events to benefit those poor dirty white children who just don't know any better. ("They are so cute when they're young, aren't they?" coos one bejeweled attendee.)

Even the small stuff. White people run faster and dance better. Black folks cultivate old money and whisper amongst themselves that "they" all look alike - "They just look like a bunch of ghosts, I can't tell them apart."

The night I viewed this film, I had a crazy dream. As myself, I was purchased on a whim by a modern black patriarch and brought home, still in chains. I was left on the living room floor and one by one, the family came upon me though none spoke to me directly.

The wife: "Harold, what have you dragged home now? What are we doing to do with THAT?"
The daughter: "Ewwww, Dad! Where is it going to stay? It better stay outta my room?"
The son: "Cool! I heard about those! How much was it?"

And so on. I never spoke nor was I spoken to. I was filthy and felt like it on the inside as well. There was a hot family debate about what to do with me and eventually, they grew tired and went to bed. Leaving me there, no food or water.

I escaped out the front door (they figured I wasn't smart enough to figure it out, I guess) and just started running at breakneck speed down the street. It was then I realized the mess I was in. Not only was I naked but I was in the middle of an upper middle class suburbia populated entirely by black people! Where the hell was I supposed to go? Who would take me in? There would be nowhere to hide!

Eventually I woke up but the nightmare is as real as it ever was, I can even see the designs on the front door and as I turned to look back. Chilling. Again, this must be the reverse to MLK's "I have a dream . . . " Do their dreams equal our nightmares?

But I digress. So, I'm on the bus this morning, having just read about the CSA film, when I overhear the bus driver complain to a passenger friend about people entering and exiting the bus through the wrong doors. "It's always racial," he spat. "Black folks always want to get on through the back door and white people always gotta exit through the front door. It screws everything up."

As I try to develop a theory for this, I notice a black-and-white placard, posted weeks ago, on every single MUNI bus in the city. It contains a photo of a black woman sitting in a bus seat, looking out the window, and it reads:

"Rosa Parks: 1913-2005"

We may have come far but we still have a long way to go . . . .


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Monday, April 24, 2006

The First 'Last'

Yesterday, I said goodbye to Miwok Livery, the stables where I have ridden horses for the last four years. As I prepare the move to Denver, this is just the first of many lasts. Soon, there will be the last day at work (!), the last bus ride, the last Presidio hike and then it will be time to hit the road, me and all my crap.

This morning, as I rode atop Teddy, a very timid, complacent Appaloosa, I watched two young bucks bound across our trail and pondered their budding velvet antlers. Wildflowers were popping out everywhere; bluebells, orange poppies, irises, yellow daisies all framed the muddy trails, still sore after all the rains. I looked out across the slate grey ocean and realized, again, that for the first in my life, I will be landlocked.

When I came to Miwok in February 2002, I was an emotional mess. I'd been terribly hurt in an affair gone awry and needed some immediate healing. I clearly remember driving from the Oakland Airport, sobbing heavily, directly fleeing the source of my pain. In a panic, I began running through the myriad of things I could do to salve my open wounds: Call a friend? Get drunk? Rent a movie? Get blazingly high? Go dirty dancing? Off myself? Read a book? Jump out of an airplane?

The list went on and on and my insides responded to none of my self-suggestions. By sheer process of elimination - somewhere between "robbing a bank" and "origami" - I finally came to "ride a horse." Deep, deep inside my guts, something clicked. ‘Yes,’ I thought to myself, ‘that just might do the trick.’

I’d immediately called my dear friend, the late Jack Smith, who always had an answer for everything and if he didn’t, he would find it. He told me about Miwok, a place just down the road from him in Marin’s Tennessee Valley, just six miles from me. I went home and called them immediately.

The very next day, I went out on the trail with Linda Rubio, the owner of the place. I was on Teddy (we’ve come full circle, he and I) and Linda on Kaleen. I was a giant ball of emotion, ready to cry at any moment, but tried to keep that factoid on the down-low.

Making our way through the Marin headlands, I finally began to get a whiff of peace – though still far from it. A coyote watched us pass and later, a young buck moved out of our path, but only as an afterthought. “These animals have never been hunted so they have very little fear of us,” Linda explained.

As we come over the grass meadow, I spotted the top half of the Golden Gate Bridge. We trotted for awhile and the conversation turned to life’s unpredictability. I did not mention my recent confirmation of this but only nodded in the affirmative. We discussed the path to happiness, how it is clouded for so many in their quest. “I think that most people just end up with a lot of stuff,” I offered.

“Too many people are looking for answers,” Linda said, shaking her head as hawks flew above us. “And the answer is: There is no answer,” she laughed.

“Yes,” I agreed, “and the more you look, the more questions you’ll find.” We rounded a lush, green bend and crossed a wooden bridge … clippity-clop, clippity-clop.

Suddenly, I felt like the luckiest woman alive.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

A Century Later in Shaky Town

Back in the old days - let's say spring 2001 - the biggest threats to America were a terrorist attack, a major hurricane disabling the Gulf Coast and a catastrophic earthquake in the Bay Area. As of today, 2006, it's two down and one to go.

Living amidst all the earthquake centennial hoopla and press coverage, a San Francisco citizen can easily become paranoid. You get an eerie sense that the nation is watching The City closely, waiting for a violent tectonic tantrum so that television programming can hurry up and get back to what it was immediately post-Katrina – horrifically real, tragically entertaining and brimming with good ol' fashioned anarchy.

After the long-awaited shake-up, all that's needed is a somber word from Brian Williams, maybe a heartfelt tear-up from Anderson Cooper, and out comes the popcorn and beer. Americans will hastily gather in their living rooms, ready to 'tsk-tsk' our unfortunate situation and mutter to one another, "Those poor people" and "I could never live there. I'll take blizzards/tsunamis/floods/hurricanes/locusts any day but not that."

In red states, there'll undoubtedly be a lot of talk about how we deserved it – Sodom this, Gomorrah that, etc. And while the rainbows of a gay pride flag will not protect human flesh any more than the stars of a Confederate flag did, Mama Nature has very little interest in human politics. When She stretches, yawns and/or farts, we're all at Her mercy. As I heard recollections today, one old woman said: “Rich or poor, we all shook the same.”

And so, like any civic-minded insomniac, I headed downtown in the dead of night to join in the commemoration of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake. At nearly 3:00 a.m., the corner of Third and Market was abuzz with activity - folks in period costume, cops in their finery, network anchors getting make-upped, fireman and firewomen practicing ladder pulls and everything lit up expectantly. The porta potties were lined up, the JumboTron was getting fired up and the news vans all propped up their erect satellites – ready for action.

Arriving early has its advantages; I simply picked out my spot and watched as police barricades were set up around me, keeping the commoners at bay. I live by the rule: If you look like you belong, eventually, you will. Consequently, I ended up sitting in special seats reserved for families of 1906 survivors. I mean really, aren't we all just one big family of survivors?

Beyond the celebration of San Francisco itself, it was great to see an occasion where the arrival of really, really old people brought the biggest cheers. These folks came in beautifully restored antique cars and were greeted like royalty. Out came the walkers and sloooowly up the ramp they went - the oldest at 109. There were a dozen survivors in all and some could hardly remember what day it is, let alone what happened a century ago.

Individually, they were interviewed by our beloved mayor, Gavin Newsom, and every year, the old ladies flirt shamelessly. Norma Norwood, known as The Earthquake Baby at 100 years of age, was conceived in a tent in Golden Gate Park, after her family was displaced after the disaster. Norma evidently inherited her parent’s randy nature and let Gavin know she'd be happy to keep him warm, if duty calls. Norma also offered stories about her childhood and how she was raised by prostitutes. “Norma, I could talk to you all day,” cooed His Honorable Hunkiness.

In various speeches, there was talk of Hurricane Katrina and how San Francisco can be an example to New Orleans (no mention of Mississippi, dammit.) No matter how devastating a blow, a strong and passionate citizenry can bring a city to its feet again and thrive in a way it couldn't before. It is well known that pre-earthquake and fire, San Francisco was an opium-dependent, red-light town – violent and greedy on its best day. You simply did not come to town unarmed for fear of getting Shanghai-ed. Suffice to say, there was no tourism.

The City came to be rebuilt stronger and more confident than before the quake. (And yes, we blamed the authorities for not doing enough back then too.) As I watched the wreath being placed on Lotta’s Fountain by Fire Chief Joanna (a tough Irish chick with five boys) and our Police Chief (a tiny Asian woman named Heather) I was down right vuhklempt. At the time of the 1906 quake, 5:12 a.m., there was a moment of silence and then slowly, one by one, sirens rang out from all corners of The City.

People cheered to our survival and the determination of our ancestral city dwellers. The swelling crowd was led in a rowdy rendition of “San Francisco” – no one seemed to know any verses, just the refrain, “Open up those Golden Gates!” I was bursting with love for my city, especially as I prepare to leave it.

Then someone came to the podium announced that the bars were now open. It was 6:00 a.m. and we were all still alive.

Thursday, April 13, 2006

A Burned-Out Fried-Day Rant

Today at work, I read a report on the technology lifestyle of "tweens" (ages 9-14 year-olds) and came across the following sentence: "Watching TV in the car is primed for primetime."

While I understand that DVD players have been implemented in vehicles for fear that a child not be digitally stimulated at all times, I have to wonder what happened to simply looking out the window? After all, that's where life is actually happening. When did this stop becoming good enough? Do I sound like I'm 93? Did I mention that I had to walk to school uphill, both ways, in the snow? With no GPS? And no soundtrack?

With every minute of every day filled with the expectation of being connected, does any daydreaming get done? My pal, Jennifer, comments: "I think you should learn to be bored as a kid." I doubt this wired generation will understand what this means but I do think they are going to sport some incredibly muscular thumbs from texting non-stop. Eventually, they will start. To speak. The same way. That they. Like, instant message. In short. Choppy. Sentences. Perhaps, newborns will soon start to disembark from the Mothership already sporting iPods, Blackberries and Bluetooths - just charge 'em up and send 'em off.

Okay, maybe its living in San Francisco, a town teeming with hipsters, that is skewing my perspective. Still, there is something unsettling about walking into a coffee house and looking at everyone sitting silently, staring into their laptops and surfing the Craigslist dating section in hopes of maybe, possibly meeting the cute girl or boy currently sitting across the room.

During the dotcom heyday, when the town was swarming with overpaid post-grads from Boston, the cell phone was in full bloom. MUNI was teeming with incessant gabbers who openly discussed their one-night-stands from the previous evening, gave out their credit card numbers to order from (I shit you not) and wantonly discussed proprietary company strategies as if they were merely going over baseball stats. I marveled at their naked ignorance and wondered when they would either go home or shut up.

Eventually, the pretend money dried up, the foosball tables were auctioned on eBay and the kids went back home to live with their parents. We had our city back. It was quiet again. A little too quiet, actually. Now, everyone exists in their silent worlds - plugged into little white boxes, texting manifestos, and checking email on their phones.

Guess it's ironic, me getting so worked up about technology on my blog. Still, I have to wonder if being so connected all the time to another thing, another person, another place keeps us from living in the moment, drinking in the details of the present and just plain old looking out the window.

Monday, April 10, 2006

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's . . . Love?

Okay, time to fess up.

Any regular reader of this space - and you could probably all fit into my bathroom - may have noticed that the posts have been less frequent lately. It just so happens I have an excellent reason for that, the best excuse I could possibly hope for.

I've fallen in love.

Not the kind of love that grows over time, after many dates and then, one day, dawns on you. No, this is more like walking down the street minding your own business when suddenly a chiseled caped hero flies down from the sky, lands in front of you, shoots powerful laser beams out of his perfect blue eyeballs and then whisks you away with him, up into the sky. You think about saying something appropriate like, "Hi, my name is ______" but instead you just mumble something about the incredible view. The air gets thinner. You are not used to being this high up. You pass out.

When you wake up, he's still there and now you are addicted to the laser beams. Resistance is futile.

Mere days later, you find yourself standing in a forest watching him kiss your fingers. Suddenly, your airtight plans for a new life in Austin, Texas seem irrelevant. You've spent maybe 15 hours with this incredible Man and when he asks you to move to Denver - a place you've never been - you can only ask, "Colorado. That's one of the square ones, right?" Happily, willingly, you agree it’s the best idea in the world and then you remember the date:

It’s April Fool’s Day.

It may just prove be my smartest decision yet.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Confucius Say Wrong Bus

It happened again this morning and every time, it just breaks my heart.

I board the Yuppie Express which looks amazingly like the regular slow bus. Really, to tell the difference one would have to be an expert in symbols or, at the very least, speak English. Hence, the problem.

I saw her immediately, an old Chinese woman hunched over her Cantonese-language newspaper, oblivious to the fact that nearly everyone on the bus was dressed for success and not the vegetable markets of Chinatown. Plenty of iPods and Wall Street Journals and not a pink plastic bag in sight.

Immediately, I wanted to warn her, to tell her then that she was about to a make a significant transportational mistake. But doing so would be what some would call 'racial profiling' or assuming that because she is an old Chinese lady, she is going to Chinatown and not some high rise office building downtown.

So I kept to my novel and waited for the inevitable distress to come, as it always does.

Sure enough, after several blocks with no stops and the bus sliding straight down into the cement jungle, she looked up. Her face began to twist in confusion and alarm settled across her brow. She searched faces on the packed bus and realized that we were strangers. As a whole, we had felt it coming because we'd seen it so often before.

At this point, one of two things happen: There is frantic caterwauling in her native tongue or there is quiet whimpering, a resignation to her fate. (It is always a woman, never a man.) This morning, it was whimpering and it touched my heart. I decided to bring out my best Chinese and explain to her the obvious.

"Ba see. Mmm-hoy. Tong yun fow," I said. This bus does not go to Chinatown. After many episodes of this sad little scenario, I'd finally asked a Chinese friend to teach me this one phrase. It has come in handy before and again, today.

She was grateful someone spoke her language and looked to me for more information. Sadly, I only knew the one phrase and just kept repeating it. Once the bus finally came to a rest at Montgomery and Sansome, I steered her petite frame in the right direction and sent her off in the rain. Poor thing.

I realized then that I need to learn a new phrase: "Please, tell your friends."

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Thursday, October 11, 2012

Brooklyn Castle

A doco. Looks like one to look out for.

Thursday, October 04, 2012

Max Gives Up Uni for GM

It turns out that Australia's latest international master is a sort of local celeb in Manly. Here he is, again, appearing in the pages of The Manly Daily.

Dee Why's Max Illingworth aims for chess grandmaster title.


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Up up and away!

Good morning!

Today I'm playing with the Paper Players challenge 283. The theme was Up, Up, and Away and immediately went to this adorable hot air balloon set Stampin' Up came out with a few years ago (and realized that I have barely used it) :(

My main goal was to keep the card really simple and try out a color combo (Strawberry Slush, Pacific Point, Pistachio Pudding, and Creamy Caramel) that I was inspired by when I saw an Essie nail polish combo in the Ulta mailer. Theoretically they look really good together. I'll just leave it at that. :)

You win some and you lose some, haha.

----> Where do you get inspiration from?

----> And, does it turn out like you pictured in your head?

I feel like I live live by the 80/20 rule. 80% I'm good, and those 20% are duds. Which I'm okay with.

Alright, thanks for stopping in today! I hope you have a stamptastic day (and upcoming weekend!! We're SO close!!) I'll be spending the weekend at a wrestling tournament.

And hopefully it finishes early so I can play some roller derby! (cross your fingers for me!)

  1. What a love selection of hot air balloons rising skyward! I think your colour combo works - but I know what you mean when you have an idea in your head; sometimes it works perfectly and other times it's a complete disaster!! Thanks for joining my up, up and away challenge over at The Paper Players this week!

  2. Your hot air balloons are so fun, and a great idea for the challenge. Love the bits of bling,too! Thanks for sharing at The Paper Players!

  3. Love that big, bold sentiment with the hot air balloons. Great take on the challenge. So glad you joined us at the Paper Players this week

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Existential Sadness and the Collective Experience

Existential Sadness and the Collective Experience

For me, shooting has always come with a sense of place and motion. It was always while in motion, on a visit to a new city, while traversing difficult terrains, or roaming an unfamiliar road that inspired me to capture.

Street photography is very special to me as the observation tethers me to the locals. When I travel, I find joy in observing and interpreting the the day to day of the people. I often find myself reading into the nuances of their collective attitudes, justifying behaviors and actions with my limited knowledge of their world.

My reflection on existential sadness and the collective experience
I’m fascinated by the existential concept of “the things that are left behind” and “the transient nature of time”. This concept exists and are expressed beautifully and ubiquitously around the world, yet it is difficult and seldomly conveyed in the english culture.

In Galician and Portuguese there is “saudade”, a word to describe the state of nostalgia and melancholy. It is a longing for a place, time, or person with the knowledge that it or they may never return. Profoundly, it is often the experience of remembering a happiness that will never again be, a “love that remains”.

In Japanese there is “mono no aware”, translated as “the pathos of things”, “an empathy toward things”, or “a sensitivity to ephemera”. It is a Japanese sentiment for the awareness of the impertinence, best explained as “both a transient gentle sadness at their passing as well as a longer, deeper gentle sadness about this state being the reality of life.” It reminds us of the loneliness that time brings.

However, existential sadness isn’t just an individual phenomenon. It can manifest from a collective experience, often a traumatic event which shaped the memories of an entire population.

In Turkish, there is the word “Hüzün”, it is best described by Orhan Pamuk as “not the melancholy of a single person, but a dark mood shared by millions of people together, by the entire city of Istanbul.” Hüzün for the Istanbullu is a shared knowledge that a greatness of their city, a collective pride is in the past. Hüzün is the longing for this past, often invoked by anachronistic architectures that still remains from Byzantine and Constantinople time.

When in Hungary, one can experience a different kind of Hüzün. There, there’s still a looming sense of sadness amongst the populace that may never go away, a scar after the century of terror and almost fifty years of horror that comes with the Nazi and Communist oppression.

Then, there was the Yugoslavian Hüzün. When in Croatia, it was apparent that there is a trace of longing for a time of unity, a time before religious divide and secular persecution, perhaps a time with Tito.

These words and concepts, though may be expressed as individual experiences, have become a collective human feeling as it permeates through culture. One must only listen to fado, the musics of Portugal to hear the cries of longing for the lost to the sea, wars, distance, and time. In Brazilian Bossa Nova, we hear melancholy songs of loving times that are no more. Existential aloneness dominates Japanese literature, music, and films, though it is often the expression of an individual, it’s also a part of their collective identity as a result of it’s affluent presence in Japanese art. For vietnamese, music often reflect a longing for home before the collapse of democracy and before the boat people phenomenon.

To me, the beauty of any city is it’s people, their beauty comes from the existential sadness that identifies them to one another.

As a traveller, transient by nature, taking a moment to observe this existential beauty is to be forever tethered as humans.

“The beauty of a landscape resides in its melancholy”- Ahmet Rasim

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Its a windy night. Inside my knitted white sweater, i can feel my body is shivering. Here is he, beside me. With a hiking backpack, both hands full of bags of groceries, i can see he's taking hard step for home.
i offer my hands, he ignores. I grab the bags off his hand , but when i slowly raise them off the ground, take a few steps forward,the bags immediately drop again. God, that's heavy.
Those bags return to his hands finally. He give me s soft kiss, a sudden of fullness appear in my heart. I love him. A guy who never let perturbation surround me more than a second.
Im lucky that i have him. He and me have had hardly any problems since living together.
Ok.. maybe that's not true.Perhaps we've had the odd tiny little debate about how may clothes i buy or just how many cakes i buy but without finishing it per week.Perhaps we've also had the odd argue on how many hours his spend on computer games. He loves gaming, and maybe once or twice (or maybe more^.*) I've blamed him of loving to game more than me.
But the point is we are mature, we are flexible, we talk things through.
no conflict, no secret within us, we think as one, like one unit.


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Javanese is the language of the Javanese people from the central and eastern parts of the island of Java, in Indonesia. Javanese is one of the Austronesian languages, but it is not particularly close to other languages and is difficult to classify. The 8th and 9th centuries are marked by the emergence of the Javanese literary tradition – with Sang Hyang Kamahayanikan, a Buddhist treatise; and the Kakawin Rāmâyaṇa, a Javanese rendering in Indian metres of the Vaishnavist Sanskrit epic Rāmāyaṇa. (Source: Wikipedia)

Use CorpusImporter() or browse the CLTK GitHub organization (anything beginning with javanese_) to discover available javanese corpora.

In [1]: from cltk.corpus.utils.importer import CorpusImporter

In [2]: c = CorpusImporter('javanese')

In [3]: c.list_corpora


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Follow Club Fashionista by Email

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Giuseppe Zanotti’s 20th Anniversary Capsule Collection

By Sarah Baker

Italian born Giuseppe Zanotti is well known in the fashion industry for his luxury, hand-crafted shoes, but he wasn’t always a fashion icon...

How It All Began...

Zanotti began his “professional” career as a radio DJ, which he did for seven years. While working as a consultant for Valentino, among others, he designed his first pair of shoes. They were designed for a girlfriend he had at the time. She was a pretty girl with not so pretty shoes so he designed a pair for her. He quickly had a lot of girls coming to him asking for shoes.

His current company started out with only 15 employees and now has over 500. He has been nominated for designer of the year three times and won the prix d’Excellence de la Mode for best footwear.

Celebrities who love Zanotti:

Giuseppe Zanotti has quite the celebrity following. Cameron Diaz, Jenna Malone, Jared Leto, Adriana Lima, Jaime King, Rita Ora, Doutzen Kroes, Chanel Iman, Jennifer Lopez, Nicole Scherzinger, Kylie Minogue, Casper Smart, Anna Kendrick, Cate Blanchette, Anna Vyalitsyna, Kate Perry, Nicole Trunfio, Keri Russell, Rhianna, Macklemore, Madonna, Lady Gaga, Sandra Bullock, Leona Lewis and Miley Cyrus are just a snippit of the list of celebrities that recently wore Zanotti. Miley Cyrus is such a huge fan that he designed nine shoes for Miley Cyrus’s Bangerz tour.

The Capsule Collection:

In honor of his 20th anniversary, Zanotti is releasing a capsule collection; four limited edition collections to be released throughout the year. The first selection will be released in stores in June. It will be a collection a gold flats with jewels. He loves jewels and has used them frequently throughout his career. He chose to do them in all gold because gold is “timeless.” The idea of all flat, all gold was inspired from the beach, freedom, and simplicity.

The second collection is a rock and roll selection, inspired by punk, bikers, rock stars, and metal encompassed with buckles and studs. The third collection is all black stilettos. He feels that “stilettos provide an intimate story.” The fourth and final selection is a disco section. “Disco is fun and it’s free, holding no direction.”

Giuseppe Zanotti with Anja Rubik
for the Capsule Collection Campaign
Giuseppe Zanotti is looking forward to many years of designing shoes, as we are looking forward to his shoes. You never know what may come out of the mind of the great designer. In fact, he doesn’t even know what the future has in store after the capsules. Certainly be sure to keep your eyes open for the amazing and unique collections throughout the year, as they are sure to not disappoint.

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Jennifer Tavé
Jennifer Tavé
Title: Asst. Coach
Year: 4th
College: Scripps College
Office Location: Roberts Pavilion - Cubicle 1

Jennifer Tavé, a 2012 Scripps College grad, is in her fourth year as coach in 2016.  Tavé, who ran for CMS for three years, was a three-time All-American for the Athenas. In cross country, she was a two-time All-American, three times All-Region and she holds the CMS record for the 6K cross country distance (20:51.8).  A two-time cross country team captain, she helped lead the team to the NCAA Championships three times including a then-best fourth place finish in 2011.  In track, she was an All-American in the 10,000 and competed at the NCAA Championships three times.  She holds the CMS record in the 10,000 (35:22.27) and is fifth all-time in the 5000 (17:15.37).  Tavé finished her collegiate eligibility at Colorado State University where she earned a Master's in Human Nutrition & Exercise Science.


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Get in Touch

We are a premier Wedding Florist in Austin, Tx. Located conveniently near downtown Austin, we’re able to serve the entire Austin area. Take a look around our website, and you’ll see that we can put on just about any wedding style you want, from the most conservative and traditional to a a very whimsical affair!

At The Flower Studio, we love bringing the wedding you’ve always dreamed of into existence, and we can’t wait to consult with you to get started.

Feel free to contact us by phone or email at your convenience, and one of our friendly wedding flower designers will get you started.

Send Us a Message

Stop by!

Coby Neal
1406 West 6th Street
Austin, TX 78703

The Flower Studio is located conveniently near Downtown Austin, on the right (North) side of 6th street on the corner of Oakland and 6th. Look for the “Florist” sign and our Big Red front door!

Contact Us

Phone: (512) 236-0916

Call Today! (512) 236-0916

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Challenges to Overcome While at University

College is usually an academically challenging time for any student, but for those with learning disabilities the post-secondary level of education can present new difficulties. While organization and study skills remain important, there is also an increased need for self-advocacy at the college level in order to access valuable resources that can facilitate success.

Ultimately, success in college is determined by satisfactorily completing all curriculum requirements and graduating. The following strategies and suggestions are intended to assist college students with learning disabilities in achieving this goal.

1. Know Thyself. The more you know about your interests, strengths and weaknesses, preferred learning style (e.g., visual, auditory, tactile), study habits, career interests, and other areas the more you will be able to effectively advocate for yourself and receive assistance in achieving your educational goals. Self-awareness is extremely important at the college level and beyond.

2. Get Tested. If you haven’t already had your learning disability officially diagnosed and documented by a qualified professional, it is to your advantage to do so. Proper documentation on file at your college entitles you to receive appropriate accommodations and services as required by federal law (e.g., Individuals with Disabilities Education Act, Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973, and the Americans with Disabilities Act).

Whereas in the past your parents and teachers made sure all of the paperwork was in order, in college the responsibility for doing this shifts to you, the student. You must take the initiative. Once you take an active role in your education, a variety of special resources will become available.

3. Read the Orientation Materials. Knowledge is power, and this information is given to students for a reason. The more you know about your college, its graduation requirements, and available services the better prepared you will be for a successful experience. Review the college website, viewbooks (glossy, colorful brochures used as marketing tools for colleges), brochures and handouts as well as the student handbook and course catalog as early as possible.

Pay particular attention to services available to students with disabilities as well as other more general resources on campus such as career planning services, health and counseling services, financial aid assistance, housing assistance, academic support services, etc.

4. Speak to Your Professors. They will provide extra help during their “office hours” or other times as arranged. It is important to let your professors know in the first week of classes that you may need accommodations (after you fail the first quiz or exam may be too late).

If your learning disability is affecting your performance in a particular class your professor should be able to assist you and direct you to other appropriate resources. It is best to seek help when you first experience difficulty before the material becomes too complicated, your grade is significantly affected, and time runs out for the semester. If you follow these rules, they will most certainly help you overcome any hardships.

5. Seek Out Support. In addition to friends, try to find a mentor, tutor(s), and study buddies. College is difficult and you do not have to go through it alone. You need people who can provide academic and social support. A mentor can guide you through the college years and help you plan for your future. Tutors can spend extra time with you on your problem subjects to help you understand the material and prepare for tests. Fellow students can help by sharing information and studying with you.

6. Schedule Your Courses Wisely. Actively select your courses taking into account your special needs and interests along with any school requirements. Don’t simply let your advisor (or worse, the computer) select all of your classes.

Try to vary the types of courses selected for your semester schedule (i.e., don’t take five heavy-duty reading courses at one time) and allow extra time for courses which will pose more of a challenge for you (e.g., reading, writing, math). Be sure to adjust your credit load accordingly. Get recommendations on courses from students who have actually taken the course so that you have some idea of what to expect from the course and the professor.

7. Take Developmental Classes. Your college will likely offer classes on orientation/adjustment; study skills (e.g., textbook reading, note taking, research and paper writing, time management); remedial reading, writing, and math, etc.

These classes can help you make a good transition to college and acquire the necessary skills in order to be academically successful. Ask your high school teachers to recommend courses that would best help you and work with your advisor at college to select appropriate developmental classes.

8. Manage Your Time. Organization and structure will help you to be successful in college. Develop daily, weekly, and semester schedules to help plan and coordinate your studying, employment, and social activities.

Be efficient in the use of your time and build study breaks into your schedule. A general guideline for the amount of study time is that on a weekly basis a student should spend two hours studying for a class for every hour spent in that class, however, this can vary depending on the student and his or her special needs. Although the school is a priority, try to find a workable balance between school and your other activities.

9. Use Compensatory Strategies. Rather than focusing solely on your areas of difficulty, remember to also focus on your strengths. We all have strengths. If you struggle with numbers and are planning to take a college math course, then try to balance out your course load with another course that is easier for you and perhaps even fun.

Study during your best times and use learning approaches that work for you (e.g., verbal rehearsal, notecards that chunk information into smaller bits, study partners, etc.). These may be different from what other students are doing and it may sometimes take you longer, but if it works – use it. The goal is to do well in your classes and this may require some extra effort on your part.

10. Remember The Basics. Proper nutrition, sleep, and exercise are important for everyone. If your body is not healthy it will not be able to function at its best and your attempts at academic success will be compromised. Mental health is also important. If you experience anxiety or depression, or other medical conditions (either physical or psychological) you should seek help at your college’s student health center, counseling center, or consult with your family physician.


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Pictures of stars with cool astronomy quotes

Showcasing cool pictures of stars from around the world taken from various photographers on clear nights along with famous astronomy quotes. The night sky has always been what inspired a sense of wonder in us, inducing a proper sense of scale and place. We gaze in awe of a shooting star, the planet Venus or even the Milky Way and the night sky has always provided endless fascination for both professional and casual observers. A sense of wonder comes from viewing the universe in all its splendour, while we contemplate the grandness of nature and the apparent uniqueness of our place in it.

The cosmos is all that is or ever was or ever will be. Our feeblest contemplations of the Cosmos stir us—there is a tingling in the spine, a catch in the voice, a faint sensation, as if a distant memory, or falling from a height. We know we are approaching the greatest of mysteries.

Carl Sagan, first paragraph of Cosmos , the book that accompanied the TV series of the same name. It quickly became one of the best selling science books in the English language. 1980.

“For every one, as I think, must see that astronomy compels the soul to look upwards and leads us from this world to another”.
Glaucon, the older brother of Plato, in Plato’s The Republic, c. 380 BCE

“Astronomy taught us our insignificance in Nature”.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Complete Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson, published 1904.

“My goal is simple. It is a complete understanding of the universe, why it is as it is and why it exists at all. . . . We see the universe the way it is because if it were different, we would not be here to observe it”.
Stephen Hawking, Lucasian Professor of Mathematics, Washington Post newspaper, 15 April 1988.

“Astronomy? Impossible to understand and madness to investigate”.
Sophocles, c. 420 BCE

“From our home on the Earth, we look out into the distances are strive to imagine the sort of world into which we are born. . . . But with increasing distance our knowledge fades, and fades rapidly, until at the last dim horizon we search among ghostly errors of observations for landmarks that are scarcely more substantial. The search will continue. The urge is older than history. It is not satisfied and it will not be suppressed”.
Edwin Hubble, last paragraph of his last published scientific paper, ‘The Law of Red Shifts (George Darwin Lecture),’
“The boundary condition of the universe is that is has no boundary”.
Stephen W. Hawking, A Brief History of Time , 1988.

“Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night”.
Sarah Williams, last lines of the fourth paragraph of the poem The Old Astronomer to His Pupil. Exact date unknown.

“Those who study the stars have God for a teacher”.
Tycho Brahe
“No one regards what is before his feet; we all gaze at the stars”.
Quintus Ennius

“Astronomy, as nothing else can do, teaches men humility”.
Arthur C. Clarke, The Challenge of the Spaceship, 1959.

“Astronomers, like burglars and jazz musicians, operate best at night”.
Miles Kington, Welcome to Kington, 1989.

“The purpose of life is the investigation of the Sun, the Moon, and the heavens”.
Anaxagoras, 459 BCE

“Astronomy is the science of the harmony of infinite expanse”.
Lord John Russell

“If we do discover a complete theory [of the Universe] it would be the ultimate triumph of human reason—for then we would know the mind of God”.
Stephen Hawking. ‘Mind of God’ was used in 1992 as book title by Paul Davies.

We hope you enjoyed these cool pictures of stars along with the famous astronomy quotes. Finally we end with this piece of stunning digital art by Alex Ruiz titled ‘Starry Starry Night’

Starry Starry Night by Alex Ruiz

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Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Shopping for a Computer: Some great places to buy at great prices.

Shopping for a Computer

The best places to buy is,,, also check out, some times they have really good specials. You should look at Ebay & Amazon and the manufacture's sites. If you are buying a gaming computer &, and Ebay has some great values.

You can save some money buy buying refurbished, desktops are fine, laptops I never had one that last more then 1.5 years. If you buy used laptop buy a protection plan that is at least 2 years.


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Thursday, February 23, 2012

I pushed a van by the river, by a little tent. Oh and just like the river, I've been running ever since!

This picture paints a thousand words, those words are represented so purely by Sam Cooke. Don't get the reference with the title, then listen to some soul music motherfucker. What you've never heard of bit-torrent, lol, thats right Mark Cassem of Comcast Customer Service. But anyways, I've missed being on this site and giving more people the satisfaction and emotional gratification that they aren't the only ones feeling "it". Maybe you have followed this site in the past, and I thank you for it, and I won't keep you waiting so long for the next post this time I promise. Or its possible you are brand new here, in that case, you are wondering what "it" is.

If you take the blue pill, you might have a painful erection for 4 hours. If you take the red pill, well fuck it, just read more. So "its" the feeling after coming home after a hard days work, opening up that comcast bill and seeing that it doubled since the last time you payed it. That your 6 month promotional period where you got to wear an imaginary chastity belt that protected you from comcast's financial anal rape has dissolved like a love letter in a monopolistic septic tank. The sweet melody of the once beautiful words that once used to the grace the paper like wiping your ass with an angel's silk blouse have now dissolved amist the logs and dumps of days passed.

My comcast bill doubled this past week, and its pretty sickening. You think that's the only issue, I just found out that the comcast "blast" internet (their fastest shit they have) is faster than the modem I rented from them previously, and the one I purchased and replaced it with. Couldn't they let me know I'm not getting what I payed for when I was at least using their rented modem that I paid for every single damn month? I'm pretty tech savy and admit to my ignorance, but how many comcast users are screwed on this fact right now? Imagine 10 bucks extra charges for blast internet going to millions of comcast users that are renting their piece of shit  2.0 modems and don't even realize they aren't getting the speed they pay for? That's a lot of money now isn't it? Why would they want to tell you this, well its all about the dollars not the customer? Look up your modem and your service, 2.0 modems can't do greater than 20mbs. The chances are you are getting screwed too, makes my rage hotter than a freshly fucked fox in a forest fire.

Comcast, you can't stop this blog, I just shat in your intertubes.


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Thursday, March 19, 2009

PODCAST: Doogie Horner

Interview: Doogie Horner
Doogie Horner is a Philadelphia stand-up comedian, graphic designer and writer. He's the author of The First Timer’s Kit and the upcoming Everything Explained Through Flowcharts. He's also the host of the live stand-up/variety comedy show Ministry of Secret Jokes. Doogie talked to host Dave Walk about his comedy, Elvis and his favorite doomsday scenarios.

The MOSJ show will be Wednesday, March 25th at Fergie's Pub (1214 Sansom) starting at 8PM. And on Friday and Saturday March 27th and 28th, Doogie will be performing with Chip Chantry in the Big Tabasco show at the Shubin Theatre. Check back tomorrow as Doogie and Dave play a thrilling battle of Omniana!

Subscribe to the podcast feed (iTunes)

If this doesn't directly take you to iTunes, copy and paste into iTunes through Advanced - Subscribe to Podcast...)

(Feel free to write a review in iTunes!)

Subscribe to the podcast feed (in another podcast reader)

Listen to this episode (21:07):

Download this episode (as a .mp3)

1 comment:

Pruneface said...

Man, I love that song.


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« Peeling the onion | Main | Speaking of Mungiki »

April 15, 2008

Alexandra Palace

I came across your blog on Jeff Gaulin's media job board, and I've been enjoying learning about Kenya through your eyes. I'm especially interested in this "global food shortage," which was splashed across the front page of Canada's largest newspaper this weekend but has apparently been in the offing for months.

I recently finished a reporting contract in the Dominican Republic, and had the opportunity to travel to Haiti, where all of the factors Warah listed in the editorial were in place.

Haiti (unemployment roughly 70%, according to conservative estimates) had already been in a political and economic deadlock with the D.R. over an outbreak of bird flu that led to both countries implementing sweeping bans on imported produce (poultry at first, but soon, out of spite, grain and some types of fruit and veg). The government was cautiously optimistic about their hold on power and working very hard to accomplish as much as possible before the other shoe dropped. They seemed to anticipate then that if the country was going to reach another crisis point, it would be over food, but they had gambled that the D.R. would come out the economic loser in the bird flu debacle. (It was a good gamble, to be fair; the D.R. had already taken a huge hit to their agricultural sector in November with Tropical Storm Noel.)

Then the price of imported rice doubled, and the situation exploded - people rioting in the streets, UN patrol forces cracking down. And the opportunistic political opposition has seized their moment to further destabilize the government. It will likely fall within a matter of weeks - again. It's an absolutely incomprehensible tragedy.

I'll be following your analysis of the Kenyan situation with interest.

The comments to this entry are closed.

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