Feburary 14, 2007
Two acts of note, accomplished (or brought to fruition) in the last few days:
The more trivial, though probably more viable in the long run: today I mailed the check that pays off my credit card. Woo-hoo. This will have mondo good effects down the road, so long as I can keep the balance clean. Theoretically, the money will build, and that will make things much better in so many ways, possibly in a new apartment and maybe new employment.
The other accomplishment: last Thursday I received a little note--literally; it's about 3" square--saying that a literary magazine named PKA's Advocate is going to publish my short story, "Dragon In The Drain." This is supposed to be a great achievement, I know, but I find myself strangely detached. It's partly because of the great time lapse between submission (last March) and acceptance. That, or the fact that I've simply seen all my writing gumption drain away. Either way, I don't really feel much, but intellectually I recognize that this is a positive step. Maybe a miracle will come of it, and there will be a reason again to fight.
February 13, 2007
Congratulations to Mitch Albom. After a week of blather and bad review, the well-known author and journalist was the only person whom I heard state (on ESPN's The Sports Reporters) what to me seemed obvious: Peyton Manning did not deserve the Super Bowl MVP award. He had an average game, and his early interception helped keep the Bears in the game much longer than they ever should have been. The true MVPs were Colts running backs Joseph Addai and Dominique Rhodes, whose combined rushing and receiving did the real damage to Chicago's game and chances.
So why did Manning win? Hmm. It couldn't possibly be that Manning was the pre-determined choice, that he--as the NFL's current foremost pitchman--was given the award for his already determined marketability. Could it? Of course, one has to wonder when, in the midst of the award presentation and interview, the league and CBS had to slip a car commercial right in the middle of the moment of triumph. And of course, it couldn't possibly have anything to do with Addai and Rhodes being black and Manning being lily-white, could it? Oh no, of course not. Never.
February 8, 2007
My trusty sidekick has been having a bad time lately. It's only been good for about an hour of play time before the power is all sucked dry. So I decided to give a battery transplant a try. You can buy replacements at your favorite electronics store for about $40. That's not the hard part. The hard part is trying to crack your way into the seemingly impenetrable iPod case. They give you instructions, but of course those instructions don't tell you what to do when something goes wrong. Like, for instance, when one of the screws you need to remove is stuck in there too tight and the head winds up getting stripped and you can't get the damn thing out, and you're out $40 and it looks like you're going to have to spend another $250 (at least) to replace your iPod with a brand new one.
Well, all was not lost. I went to the hardware store, where the guy suggested I go to a watch repair shop, since someone there would probably have the tools to extract such a sticky screw. So I did. And, after a bit of back and forth, the watch repair guy took a look at the thing, noodled around here and there, and--voila!--got the stubborn screw out. And he didn't even charge me!
Cut to the chase: I took out my iPod back to the office, unscrewed this and unsnapped that, and got the new battery in its rightful place. So far, it looks like the surgery was successful. A happy ending at last.
Let me set the scene: I'm driving in to work, late as usual, getting off the freeway. I'm coming down the off-ramp, doing a fair sixty miles an hour, where I've rolled through literally hundreds of times. But this time was different. From my left flutters into view a bundle of feathers, flying erratically as it closes in on my car. The bird--which I barely had time to see--drops down below the front end of my car...and disappears. Didn't come out the side. Wasn't to be seen in my rear view mirror. Never made so much as the slightest impact 'thud.'
I say to myself, "Did that bird just...?" Minutes later, I pull into the parking lot at work. I get out and peer at the bottom of my car's front end. Sure enough, down on the underside of the fiberglass, I see a small tuft of feathers, sticking out of an oblique opening in the body. There's a dead bird stuck in the front end of my car. Great.
This leads to a dilemma: do I go digging for the bird, or do I leave it there and--after coming home and parking the car in my quite rural driveway--let the local critters take care of things. I opt for the latter, since I have little desire to grab a possibly scrambled bird out of my car's chassis.
Alas, the local skunks and stray cats did not do their duty over the course of the night. So I grab a trowel, from among the piles of junk left outside by my moronic neighbor/landlord, hit the deck, and start digging. When the trowel proved ineffective, I had to resort to a nearby pitchfork. There was a moment of panic when it seemed that the bird was wedged too tightly into the opening, but eventually the dearly departed began to leave its last resting place. At last, out plopped...not a little benighted chick like I was expecting, but a full-grown adult robin! Roughly 8" in length. Red breast and all. I didn't even know there was a space that big in the front end of my car.
I'm still amazed that that bird hit the one opening in the front end of my car where it would stick. Everything was perfect: angle, hole size, timing--perfect. It was one of those "you couldn't do it if you tried" kind of things. I wonder sometimes: Can it get any weirder? And apparently the answer is: Yes, it can.
February 4, 2007
I've made it back to this space, finally, after a long and mostly wretched absence. Details reported below, as appropriate.
Much of the misery of the last month came from the loss of our cat Gus, who lost his battle for life on December 31st after a long illness. I held out hope until the end, but ultimately the disease proved too much for him. I have now posted a tribute to Gus, which will remain permanently linked in the left column along with the memorial to WT. Words can't describe how much I miss our Gussycat, but I hope my meager efforts will do the feeling justice.
I would be remiss if I did not mention, from the national scene, the passing of Molly Ivins last week. Molly was a favorite of mine; I tried never to miss an edition of her syndicated column. She was also one of the few people who I actually went out of my way to see speak in person, a few years ago in Berkeley. Ivins was a bellweather for the state of national politics, one whose down-home Texas style cut straight through the bullshit and told it like it was (and, unfortunately, still is). Given the state of the nation, one fewer sane voice in this wilderness is a loss we can ill afford. My condolences to Molly's family, and to fans of solid writing and reporting everywhere.
One good thing has popped up recently: it was just announced that one of my all-time favorite bands, the great Crowded House, will be reuniting this year, for both a tour and a new album. This is heartening on many levels. It's not that the band's chief singer-songwriter, Neil Finn, has been absent these last few years: he and his brother Tim have been releasing solid works with regularity. But for me, it's a better world when Crowded House as a band is together and active. It may not be quite the same as the golden days (they will be without drummer Paul Hester, who committed suicide a few years back), but I'm sure it will be good enough for me.
Currently Watching: Where to begin? I've been catching reruns of the brief but loudly lamented series Firefly lately. This one's showing on the Universal HD network, which a lot of folks probably don't get, so I won't necessarily invite you to join in. The show is enjoyable and entertaining, but I can see why it failed, too. ("Sci-fi western" is an identity that's a little too schizo for most of the viewing public. Too much stylistic dissonance for the average couch potato.) If you have the opportunity...maybe.
Along the same lines, repeats of the equally meteoric series Sons and Daughters have been playing on the same network. Not enough people watched this show, and that's a shame: it's really good, always funny, occasionally touching, sometimes even downright brilliant--an extravagant achievement for a partially-improvised, ensemble sitcom. If you get a chance, give it a look.
I also took a peek at the new Sarah Silverman show (Thursday nights on Comedy Central). So far, I've just seen the one episode. An odd bird, to say the least, but it had some very funny moments. The jury's still out, but I'm willing to go along for a while. Take a peek, if you like weird humor and are not too easily offended.
Currently Reading: A Distant Mirror by Barbara Tuchman. A history of the 14th century. Another time when the world seemed crazy and upside down.
Currently Listening To: Wincing The Night Away, the new album by The Shins. Very imaginative, weird in places, strangely beautiful in others.
Also, Frank Sinatra's Songs For Young Lovers/Swing Easy! combo album. Some real classics in there ("My Funny Valentine," "The Girl Next Door," "I Get A Kick Out Of You"); the Songs For Young Lovers part feels a little stronger than the Swing Easy! tunes. But it's Sinatra: gold standard singing, beautiful Nelson Riddle arrangements, and built in nostalgia in every track.
This page last updated on 3/5/07