It’s the conduit of civilzation.
Author: hugh
The Trees Will Eat Us
I’m convinced Werner Herzog is convinced we’re on a road to nowhere. He’s not listening to scientists like that guy on NPR.
Two of My Favorite Jokes
They’re old but if you’ve ever worked with one, they’ll make you laugh.
How many graphic designers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Does it have to be a lightbulb?
How many music producers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
I don’t know, what do YOU think?
The Next Feminist Platform Revisited
Happy moms, happy babies…. Some friends on facebook commented on one of my earliest posts on this blog which dealt with orgasmic childbirth. Last week, ABC’s 20/20 finally ran their promised segment on it with a positive spin I’m happy to say.
If you have any questions on waterbirthing etc, see Judith’s website. Her photos are also featured on the orgasmic birth site.
The Biggest Pussy
Over at hulu, you can see all of The Missouri Breaks with a few commercials for free. Besides being one of Marlon Brando’s most peculiar and inspired performances, it is a parable for how certain idiots view the idea of honor. The moral ambiguities of so many iconic 70s movies could probably do as well.
Jack Nicholson’s character heads a gang of rustlers and his nemesis hires Brando the Regulator (sort of like a Pinkerton) to vanquish him. Brando turns out to be a pussy because he can’t look his victims in the eye when he dispatches them… besides being a cross-dresser who flirts with and kisses his horses. Nicholson gets the girl, schools Brando, rides off into the sunset leaving us with the moral that sometimes there is more honor among thieves than amongst the law and order.
When a certain someone gets on a high horse and whacks the sheep with “who’s the biggest pussy?” I just have to drain the bath. I don’t know which is worse: stealing horses or riding a magic carpet powered by farts.
Christmas Spaces
Brooklyn Academy of Music
Disneyland snow show
My Old Room
First off, all the beds in California are mushy. I don’t understand why people in California can’t get into a stiff bed. I was sick almost the whole time I was there for Christmas. It was the worst flight I’ve ever had and then I had traditional Thai food in Thai Town, murderously spicy. The payaya salad had as many green chiles as papaya plus tiny crab legs my brother’s wife told me were “for flavor” after I ate one. I ordered green curry with tofu. On the East Coast, this comes with an assortment of vegetables. In Thai Town, I got cubes of tofu sitting in a green sea. So I had the runs the whole time.
Normally when I go back to my parents’ place, I am in my old sisters’ room which is very clean and has its own bathroom. This time, because of all everyone else coming back, I was given my first childhood bedroom. This room has been appropriated by my father for camera equipment, lighting equipment, slide and photo storage.
There is still a box of old marbles I used to play with here. It’s probably worth about $20 according to similar lots on eBay.
The room is very dusty and the bed smells like dust. One night I had feverish nightmares which resembled nightmares I had as a kid in the same room. People post about childhood showers but nothing really prepares you for reliving childhood nightmares except Guy Maddin films.
I was somehow healthy enough the second day to go to Disneyland with Cisco and family. The best shot I got was my niece getting on the first ride at 9 am.
Disneyland employs “imagineers.” The imagineer’s job is to manufacture the best time of your life. (According to a source, Captain Jack Sparrow was yanked from the fold because women would flash their tits at him.) They also employ China and half of Orange County. It’s like a floating mesa of ready-made culture to stick your ostrich head in. If there was a DisneyPlanet in China, the whole thing would collapse. Be careful out there.
Backyard Memories
I’m processing my two trips to California in two months but in the meantime, here are some photos of the family backyard with some memories and other comments.
I realize I was privileged having such a large backyard growing up. It was on a heavily sculptured and landscaped hill. No grand football games, basketball court, or swimming pool. As our two story house’s two floors are circular, the landscape features two circular paths with staircases connecting the levels.
Needless to say, the circular structures in both the house and backyard lend themselves to endless games of tag and hide-and-go-seek. No dead ends. Also, we were very lucky in that the backyard has a gate that leads to a city park. This is where most of the elbows-in-the-face basketball games, ping pong, grand football games, tennis lessons, frisbee tossing, and general neighborhood squabbling took place. I could tell some stories about each of those. Neighborhood kids from across the street often used our backyard as a shortcut to the park. This was occasionally tolerated by my parents but often not, and they would padlock the gate. Different circumstances — losing the lock, losing the key, a combination becoming public — would often thwart their efforts. In our adolescences, this is where we would surreptitiously drink our Mickey Big Mouths and get stoned. Again, fodder for more stories…
The middle level of the backyard has two platforms populated with outdoor furniture, some appropriated from my grandparents’ houses. Some of these tin cans must be over 50 years old. You can still sit in them after a good rag cleaning. These concrete and tile platforms form the heart of our summer backyard parties being roomy enough for a couple picnic tables, a barbecue, and kegs and drink service.
My mother would occasionally make marmelade with the sour oranges that the tree on the left produced. Because of the growth of two large pine trees planted in the late 70s by my siblings (after a volunteer tree planting after a large fire burned down a nearby hillside), the orange tree isn’t get as much light as it should and is producing less fruit. There are lemon trees and bushes, a grapefruit tree, and an almost dead peach tree not getting enough sunlight anymore but my parents seem to be enjoying the shade the taller pine trees are throwing on the house for the time being. Mom has yet to retire and says she has lots of plans for the house when that happens. Oh, goody!
To the left in the photo below, you can sort of see where the built-in barbecue is. (The grill chef, usually Dad, stands on another platform below.) Over the barbecue is a contraption that lets you raise and lower the grill with a crank. When Mom retires, I really hope fixing this is part of the agenda. It was on this platform where I remember sipping my first PBR and getting my first beer buzz. As you can see there are geranium plants, jade, ivy and olive trees that aren’t getting enough sunlight anymore. The soil also probably needs some fertilizer at this point. Besides mowing the front and small back lawns (up top by the house, not pictured here), the olive trees were the scourge of our backyard chores growing up. They were forever shedding leaves and olives and needing stump shoots getting pruned. Olive trees are quite the sturdy beast.
And there you have the homestead backyard. I fondly remember it and pay tribute.
Update: Couple more photos…
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays
To my friends and family who I didn’t send a card to (all of you), this is it! The card. New York was blessed with an early snow and I went out and got some snowy night shots from around the neighborhood. You know I love the trees with the white stuff on top (lit by streetlight). Here’s wishing for peace on earth, health, wealth, family harmony, and gainful employment in my case.
It’s a bike
from a while ago. You may ask why I post these things. More than the picture would be compicated.
Captain Ahab’s Crew Convenes
Deep Thought
Six months ago, a Ponzi scheme didn’t seem much different from a Heimlich maneuver.