Archive for the ‘Wish You Were Here’ Category

Voting is Such Sweet Sorrow

Monday, October 25th, 2010

Times marches on inexorably to November 2, Election Day in the state of California. If you live in California, I don’t need to tell you what a hot mess every ballot is. If you don’t live here, be grateful nobody will confront you with a three-page (legal size) ballot stuffed full of obscure political races and up to 24 ballot measures (give or take depending on your county). I’m taking a break from reading Ballotopedia to spout off about this for a minute.

The ballot initiative plagues California. Thanks to ballot initiatives it’s basically impossible to raise taxes in this state, get any money from big oil and gas companies that come here to drill and destroy the coastline, pass a budget or fund essential services. Why is California broke? Because the voters decided that it was more important for multi-millionaires and billionaires to not pay taxes on their estates than it was to adequately fund social services.

Now, for the idiots who start the whole hysterical screaming about how this country is so socialist we might as well be goose-stepping, I challenge you to actually look that term up to see what it really means. No, Shithead Beck, Dipshit Palin and every other rich fuck that has managed to brainwash you isn’t right. That’s okay; I don’t expect you to believe me. Just go ahead and look it up, I’ll wait.

Back so soon? Okay, I hope you read at least some of that. Bottom line: if you’ve ever driven down a public road, collected unemployment, went to a public hospital, used police or fire services, went to a public school, used the post office or used Medicare/Medical, you’re a damn, dirty socialist. That’s right, you, my friend, are a socialist. So, enough of that bullshit. Now stop your whining.

Back to the ballot measures. I’m not sure how the average human is supposed to cut through all the nonsense and make an intelligent decision. Ballot initiatives are mob rule, plain and simple. Mostly out of state organizations and individuals place some stupid-ass initiative on the ballot that will favor big business (Prop 24 2010), status quo (Prop 26 2010) or foster some type of religious bullshit discrimination (Prop Hate 2008). When will people wake up to this? It never ceases to amaze me how easily the American public is cowed into voting against its own self-interest.

Courtesy of Michael Dal Cerro

Sometimes the measures make no sense whatsoever. Take this year’s Propositions 20 and 27. Here’s the wording for each from the actual California ballot:

Proposition 20: Redistricting of Congressional District. Initiative Constitutional Amendment. Removes elected representatives from process of establishing congressional districts and transfers that authority to recently-authorized 14-member redistricting commission comprised of Democrats, Republicans and representatives of neither party. Fiscal impact: No significant net change in state redistricting costs.

Proposition 27: Eliminates State Commission on Redistricting. Consolidates authority for redistricting with elected representatives. Initiative Constitutional Amendment and Statute. Eliminates 14-member redistricting commission. Consolidates authority for establishing state Assembly, Senate, and Board of Equalization districts with elected representatives who draw congressional districts. Fiscal Impact: Possible reduction of state redistricting costs of around $1 million over the next year. Likely reduction of these costs of a few million dollars once every ten years beginning in 2020.

Did you catch that? Yeah, so did I. So…uh…what happens if both ballot measures pass? Do the 14-member commission and elected representatives do Rock, Paper, Scissors for the right to re-district? How about a good old fashioned tug ‘o war? Maybe they could arm wrestle. Who knows? I hope voters are smart enough to stop letting the professional politicians draw the districts, but since this is California, I doubt that will happen. I’m not endorsing either proposition, but I’m just throwing out the possibility that politicians might have to face layoffs and long-term unemployment for a change. After all, how many of us can just change the entire company or business around us so that it’s impossible to get fired? Right then.

Here’s another example of Californians’ right to shoot themselves in the foot:

Proposition 26: Requires that certain state and local fees be approved by two-thirds vote. Fees include those that address adverse impacts on society or the environment caused by the fee-payer’s business. Initiative Constitutional Amendment. Fiscal Impact: Depending on decisions by governing bodies and voters, decreased state and local government revenues and spending (up to billions of dollars annually). (Emphasis added by me.) Increased transportation spending and state General Fund costs ($1 billion annually).

Why is California broke? Why? Why, oh why, is California broke? I’d like to point out the deficit hawk Rethuglicans and big oil are responsible for that little debacle up there. Problem is, most Californians (Americans for that matter) are so damn averse to any sort of tax or funding that they will just see that and automatically vote for it without pondering the consequences.

Why didn’t they clean up the oil spill? Prop 26. Why can’t we fund job training? Prop 26. Why do these roads suck? Prop 26. Why did California’s budget increase billions of dollars? Prop 26. You can thank Chevron for this.

So cut spending. Right? It’s just that simple. Cut spending! You still want roads you can drive on and you want your kids leaving the California school system at least partially literate? (That’s a pipe dream). You may just think about pulling a dollar bill or two out your ass. You can’t get something for nothing, but here we go again, allowing big business to goad us into shooting ourselves. Nice. I want to be an oil executive when I grow up.

The California Constitution has been amended 540 times since 1879. Let me say that again so it sinks in. THE CALIFORNIA CONSTITUTION HAS 540 AMENDMENTS. Is that not the sign that something is seriously fucked up here? Say you get a flat tire. You put a patch on it, hit the road, and travel on. Say the same tire goes flat again. You put a second patch on it, hit the road, and hope to get to a tire dealership. Now, picture that same damn tire getting busted up 540 times. Do you still try to put a patch on it and carry on? Change the fucking tire. Don’t add another amendment, change the fucking tire. Good luck fellow voters, choose wisely.

Don’t sweat it; it’s only patch #541. We can get at least another 100,000 miles on it.

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Long Ago and Far Away

Friday, October 1st, 2010

Okay, quick disclaimer. I didn’t take the pictures long ago. I took them when I was back on the old homestead on my cell phone. Preemptive apologies on picture quality. I’m a little dry this Friday, so I figure I’ll let the pictures do the talking. These are from a park in Pennsylvania, USA. I’ll let it go at that. These fire pits and well structures were built back in the days. I can’t tell you when those days were. Nobody seems to remember, except that it was back in 1900-something. Ish. I’m sure there’s some historian who knows. The structures aren’t remarkable unto themselves, but they really put me in mind to a time waaaaay long ago. Possibly when supernatural creatures roamed the earth. I’m sure there’s a story in there somewhere, but it hasn’t taken solid shape yet. Anyway, look through the window of the fire pit and tell me you don’t expect people in armor or elves or something to wander by.

Stone fire pit. The structure in the background is one of numerous old stone buildings in the area whose origin seems to be lost in time.

Enclosed well with rusty spigot. I'm pretty sure people are buried in it.

Close up of the well. I don't know when it was sealed off, but it looks like an old oven or crematorium now

This one is still serviceable. I'm no boy scout, but I don't think you can start a fire that way. Yes, you CAN have too much wood.

Love the light at that time of day. It's like looking through a window into the past.

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Tourist

Friday, August 27th, 2010

I am a stranger in a strange land. What’s bizarre is that I lived in that land for at least three years and was born just north of there. I find it amusing when I go back home when people are stumped over how much I’ve changed. Well, a decade does that to you. Anyhoo, my last trip home I took a little trip to the fair. You know this; I’ve shown you the evidence. What takes the cake (the one that is not moldy) is that I had the kind, scantily toothed man running the freak show call me over for a little chat. He asked me where I was from. I told him Oakland, California. He said…

“I just knew you were a tourist, you’re just taking pictures of everything. I bet a city girl like you never seen anything like this before.”

I had to laugh. What to say, what to say. You know, I’ve been to that county fair numerous times before. Hell, I’ve had my knitting win prizes at the fair, and got a $10 prize for my award winning wax beans. Yes, I’ve been there. However, I apparently carry myself much differently now.

So, I know what’s really on your mind. I have one thing to say. We could do that, but there’s always the question of what to do with the hostages. I say we open the liquor cabinet, crank the music and demand to go to Barbados. We’re talking total party plane here.

Oh. I guess you weren’t thinking of that. No matter, here’s what else is on your mind.

They don’t let you take pictures in that freak show. It’s a shame; I could’ve promoted that bitch all the way to the west coast. No matter, we can all still enjoy the old skool painted freak show signs.

That’s even better than a two-headed turtle. It can fly.

Twice as much of butt head. Get it? Butt? Hehehehe…

Step right up, folks...

You know you’re hot for the fat lady.

I can’t wait to see the fish people. They’re in the freak show by dint of being fish people (“Pirates of the Caribbean).

I like carnies, they’re good people. This traveling freak show had the added bonus of being a petting zoo. You could feed and fondle the freaks. (You just take that sentence however you want to. We have a similar phenomenon happening in San Francisco, but it has an entirely different context.)

This is not that tattoo lady. She actually works at the sno cone stand.

I wasn't lying; I promised you sno kones. I like the blue ones.

In the world where you can’t put people on display, we can still exhibit freak animals and pickled punks. I have to admit I was disappointed, because I really wanted to see another octomom live and in captivity. I miss the days of the real side shows. Remember the girl that changed into a gorilla?

Those were the days.

Penn & Tell actually perform that act on stage in Vegas. I loved it. They also did the headless man shtick.

NOT Penn & Teller. But man, is that a klassic or what? Nobody even knows when this picture was taken.

I know exactly how that one’s done, and there’s a reason it’s done in a darkened room under a spotlight. Don’t worry, that’s all I will say. I love believing there are headless people roaming around out there and there’s actually quarters hidden behind my ears, as you do.

Now, there are some things that reach freak show status, but aren’t actually in the freak show.

It’s a sheep wearing a sweater. Let me run that by you again. It’s a sheep. In a sweater. A sheep. No freak here…

Those guys aren’t nearly as interesting as the fish people, though. I know you were waiting for this…

No words.

While on this ride, you must obey all posted signs and placards. Oh, and keep in mind that people get nervous when you start taking pictures of things they don’t understand, but are impossible to resist if you happen to be me.

You can certainly see the attraction, right?

Enjoy your weekend and take in a show some time, preferably a freak show that’s not on cable. Of course, that may be hard these days. Freak shows are not politically correct or socially acceptable. And besides, if you actually could find freaks hanging around waiting to relieve you of a few bucks for the privileges of gawking, it’s not like they’d openly advertise it.

Well what do you know? My bad!

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You Can Go On Vacation, but You Can’t Escape Tacky

Friday, August 20th, 2010

Klassy. There’s no saying how good this will look in your living room.

Do you see that? No, I could only wish that you see an ugly ceramic bear drinking a Coors Light because you had one too many martinis with lunch today. Oh no, my friend, that was for sale at a kiosk in the mall near where I used to live on the East Coast. I know that somewhere, somehow, somebody thought that this is the pinnacle of whimsical design elements. Nothing says Better Homes and Gardens than ugly, drunken wildlife. This design element looks perfect in any art gallery, living room furnished with Goodwill castoffs or trailer. Yes, I must admit that where I grew up, this is what high art actually looks like.

I’m no Martha (Stewart) or Christopher Lowell, but I know tacky when I see it. I would rather decorate with cat puke than have that piece of shit gracing my mantle. Now, I know what those of you who really know me are thinking. You’re thinking something along the lines of: “If that’s what makes them happy…” or “This is coming from the bitch with two tiki statues and an empty sake bottle on the mantle.” Yes, I have an empty bottle on the mantle. However, I need to point out that it’s a rather attractively painted bottle. Besides, if I ever need to spruce up, I can just quietly dispose of my décor in the recycling bin. Let’s take a trip back in time, shall we?

At some point in time, somebody thought it would be a great idea to have a fugly, singing plastic fish on his or her wall. I remember commercials with that damn fish in. They always played late at night, and I remember pondering how drunk one has to be for that to be in the least bit attractive. Can you imagine getting that shit for a gift? If there was no receipt in the box, you couldn’t be blamed for shoving it up the giver’s ass.

Big Mouth Billy Bass is the low point of décor, though. You have to keep in mind that the residents of rural America loves us some huntin’, fishin’ and beer drinkin’. Believe me, nothing says “house proud” like a decent and preferably large piece of taxidermy.

Now THAT’S a decoration. Fuck those PETA bastards anyway.

I know some of you are urbanites like me, and as such can’t afford to sacrifice an entire wall to a stuffed head. I mean, where else are you going to slap that olive green paint and yard sale wall sconces and call your place “retro”? No, you need something smaller and more understated.

Look, they even come clothed! I bet that gives you a serious jump on the holiday decorating.

And for those of you who need to combine the best of both worlds—taxidermy and animals drinking beer…

Holy fuck. I’m at a loss for words. Thanks for the offer, but I’m just sticking to whatever’s in my hip flask.

Remember the Home Interior Decorator’s parties of the 70’s and 80’s? Well, they’re still around, only now it’s called Celebrating Home. This was the company that convinced everyone that all it took to have a professionally designed look were some cheap metal wall sconces, mass produced paintings and pink silk flowers. I still see that in most of the homes back east. I think they think that this is how the “other half” decorates their homes. I’ve seen some seriously high end homes when I used to visit LA and West Hollywood, and not one of them had a scrap of that shit. I did see a lot of Buddha statues. Buddha is hott this season. There isn’t one Buddha to be found in these cozy rural homes, just some junk that you found in Grandma’s attic and decided that it was better than empty beer bottles.

Ohhh kay. I think I’d rather see some crappy silk flowers on the coffee table. Seriously, in what universe is this appropriate? And who still plays Leisure Suit Larry?

I generally hate commercials, but going to a lot of those old farm houses put this commercial in mind, particularly the plastic covered furniture. Remember, the plastic is there so they don’t have to clean up after all that dirt you bring into their home (along with your bizarre aversion to taxidermy). It helps the furniture to stay nice!

The world is full of beautiful things. Unfortunately they seem to be in short supply around the old homestead. Well, when things look really bad, there’s always one view we can all enjoy.

Yes, the bar is dark. Wonderfully dark. Blessedly dark. I can barely see the taxidermy, and even if I could, Gentleman Jack would make sure I enjoyed the scenery.

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Not the Fairest of Them All

Wednesday, August 11th, 2010

I had the rare privilege of attending a county fair last week. It was back in my home turf, so there was none of this fancy monster truck rally stuff going on. It was a small and intimate affair that emphasized the family nature of producing your own food.

It’s rural America: nothing to do but sit around and prepare for the coming apocalypse. Don’t forget peaches packed in brandy!

Note to self: make sure you go to the fair in the beginning of the week. Yes, I waited too long to go to the fair. I managed to get there on the last day, and let’s just say that some of the exhibits had that “not so fresh” feeling. Now, the rules of this county fair require the exhibitor to leave their products there all week. The pies and baked goodies all look extremely tempting when they’re dropped off for judging on Sunday. Unfortunately, by next Saturday, those taste-tempting creations look a little more like this:

Gee, it’s a blue ribbon winner. I don’t mean to question anyone’s taste, but I believe I’ll pass.

It must be heartbreaking to go through the effort of making an award winning pie with home made crust only to have it go hairy before the eyes of the public. Oh, if only they could use as many preservatives as Hostess.

I’m sure it was great in its day. Too bad its day was about a week ago. No, no desert, thank you, I’m drinking.

Speaking of drinking, I must take a moment here to discuss the arcane liquor laws that plague Pennsylvania. You can’t import liquor, wine, beer or even rubbing alcohol to PA unless you fill out an assload of forms, pay approximately one fuckload of money to get the right tax stamps and pay the state store system a motherfucking shitload of money to carry your product. That’s why we don’t ship there. If you think that’s bad, try buying alcohol in this bass ackward system. You can’t buy liquor before noon on Sunday, no alcohol in grocery stores or convenience stores, restaurants can’t get liquor licenses (forget that wine with dinner) and you need to go to designated distributors to buy a full bottle of wine or case of beer. Don’t try to buy a bottle or glass of alcohol, it just isn’t worth it. Man, it makes you just want to strike out and make your own.

The only thing that’s not fair about this is that I didn’t get to be a judge. Seriously, these people have no respect for their wine producing brethren from across the nation.

At least you don’t have to worry about a hangover. Since you don’t have a hangover, and there’s no Taco Bell for about 1000 miles to cure one if you did, you might as well make some breakfast. Just don’t use the eggs we left on the table.

Yes, they won an award. Too bad they’ve been sitting on that table outside of the fridge for about a week. Say, I should take one to throw at my old landlord’s house.

Oh, yeah, and you want to avoid the coffee as well. There’s no Starbucks there (no, I’m not shitting you) and their idea of gourmet, hoity-toity coffee is Maxwell House. I swear if you stop at a convenience store to get a cup of coffee, chances are you’ll have to beat it with a stick to get it to stay in the cup. It’s a little bitter and little frisky.

I’m not the only one in bad need of a little pick me up after last week. You know you spent one too many nights partying at the fair when you end up looking like this guy here:

Maybe we should try to comb it or something? You know, dude, you don’t look that bad. Really, it could be worse. You could look like Nick Nolte’s mugshot.

The fair invites us to smell the pig shit while downing corndogs and deep fried Oreos. No, that’s not a joke. I saw signs for deep fried Oreos, deep fried Twinkies, deep fried Snickers and deep fried Coca-Cola. I have no idea how that last one is made, and I don’t want to find out. Apparently the good folks at the fair have never heard of the ongoing obesity problem this country is having. It could be worse. They could expect you to dig in to this:

This is chow chow. No, I don’t know what the hell it is either. It’s a pickled vegetable medley of some sort. I tried it once. ONCE.

Chow Chow:

Ingredients:
1 c. chopped green tomatoes
1 c. chopped bell peppers
1 c. chopped cabbage
1 whole cucumber, chopped
1 c. chopped onions
2 qt. water
1/4 c. salt
1 c. chopped carrots
1 c. chopped green beans
2 tsp. mustard seed
2 tsp. celery seed
2 c. vinegar
2 c. sugar
Soak tomatoes, peppers, cucumber and onions overnight in water and salt. Drain. Cook carrots and green beans for 10 minutes and drain. Mix all ingredients. Heat to a boil. Pack in jars and seal.

Of course, you could always opt for the fresh vegetables instead.

Ummm, maybe not. What was it, exactly?

I know I should have shown up a week ago. You know, even the animals are tired at this point. They can’t be bothered with you, the judges, or even their own owners. However, you know you’re nobody in this world until you’ve been ignored by a pig.

They’re eating and don’t have time for your camera bullshit. That’s why we call them pigs.

The animals are tired, the vendors are fatigued from sitting out in 100 degree heat and the vegetables are dead. It’s hard to find a friendly face after a week of wafting cow shit, vomit and the heady mélange of a dozen different food stands. At least they don’t feel the need to nickel and dime you for no good reason.

That’s a good enough reason for me. Man, I NEED that sign.

Well, it’s just about that time. I guess I need to get my ass up on outta here…

You had to see this coming.

No, not that ass, silly. But now that you mention it, he looks pretty partied out too. I think the mule had a better time than I did. Now that’s no fair at all.

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Big Up Oakland

Friday, May 28th, 2010

I have to take a few minutes to give some props to my home town, Oakland, CA. Now, I know what you’re thinking when I mention that name. Everybody seems to think that. I think the reputation of this city ranks third, trailing just behind Newark, NJ and Detroit, MI. It’s funny, because when it comes to dangerous cities, Oakland doesn’t even make the top 15. Tiny little Stockton, CA, a suburb north of Oakland is actually number 5 on the most dangerous cities list. Yeah, Stockton. I’d claim I never heard of it either, but I’ve actually been there. I know you’re not buying this, so check it out. I’m not lying about this.

See, that isn’t so bad. That man doesn’t look like he’s having an anxiety attack at all.

Okay, so now that you’re not afraid anymore, let’s go visit Oakland!

Now put that damn thing down; you’re going to lose an eye or something.

Oakland is the eighth largest city in California, and the 44th largest city in America. We have a population of 404,155 living in a really small space. We’re dense. Not dense as in dumb, but let’s say we rub elbows with each other frequently. Oakland is one of the most diverse cities in the United States, with whites actually being the minority race. (I appreciate the help, Wikipedia, but put down the brochure. This trip is supposed to be fun.)

See? Fun!

For ease of administration, let’s just limit the number of districts to 5: Central Business District, East Oakland, West Oakland, Oakland Hills and North Oakland. There are districts within districts within districts in Oakland. The West side is known as the “Flatlands,” and that’s the portion with the Port of Oakland and the nasty reputation. I had a conversation with a friend recently that went a little something like this:

Friend: “Are you going to the party Saturday?”
Me: “Yeah, are you?”
Friend: “I’m not sure. I mean…it’s in… (whispers) Oakland.”
Me: “What’s wrong with Oakland?”
Friend: “I just don’t want to drive to…Oakland. Especially not the flatlands.”
Me: “I used to live in the flatlands.”
Friend: “I know, and it’s no wonder you moved.”
Me: “I moved because the landlord was a psychotic asshole who sold the house out from under us. The area was okay. So are you going?”
Friend: “What are you going to do?”
Me: “Well, I’m going to drive to West Oakland, and nothing’s going to happen. When the party is over, I’m going to drive back to my neighborhood, and nothing’s going to happen.”

I drove to the party. Nothing happened. I left the party. Nothing happened. Well, I won some cash layin’ down the bones, but that’s a different story. Let the white girl rock. I’m getting distracted, so let’s get back to Oakland. I want to reiterate this: nothing happened.

Fox Theatre. We have one of the oldest and most beautiful theaters in America.

So, where does all this come from? I don’t know. I do know that Oakland, like your average little shanty town, has some areas that are less safe than others. Generally if you’re not a gangsta doing gangsta shit (thanks, Tarantino), you’re going to be alright. Now, Oakland does have a serious property crime problem. All the houses in our neighborhood have been broken into at one time or another. But as a whole, the city isn’t that bad. We even have a zoo.

They put lights on all the animals so you can see them at night.

Living in the O has its perks. We have lots of great local restaurants, awesome clubs, the zoo, the Port, the Rose Garden and Jack London Square to name a few. We have amazing international markets and our own Chinatown. You don’t have to be armed to enjoy Oakland; you can even bring the kids.

Piedmont, Oakland.

Colorful, isn’t it? Yes, the city has some problems, but it’s a lot better than it used to be. The neighborhoods all have their own distinct local flavor, so a day in Oakland is like visiting a bunch of little cities within a city. If you get really bored, there’s no shame in crossing the bay and going to the other city by The Bay.

The Bay Bridge after Loma Prieta. NO, I know what I'm talking about. The San Francisco earthquake took place in 1906.

NO, NO, NO! Now you stop that. That was an isolated incident during Loma Prieta. We have it under control now. Mostly. It’s gone a little over budget.

See, all better now. Almost.

Who knows? By the time you get back across that bridge, you may have started to miss Oakland. We missed you (No, not bullets. Will you quit that?). And by the time you leave, you may even be tempted to take home a souvenir or two.

Hey, Hey! So do I!

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Iamamiwhoami

Wednesday, May 5th, 2010

Okay, I normally don’t support the spread of disease, but I must inflict this amazing viral video series on you. I don’t know who made these, and I have no theories. I’m leaning toward those who say it’s the woman from Sweden. I’ve collected all those in the series and placed the links back to back for your browsing convenience.

I think this woman came from my forest, actually, but who knows? Anyway, I find the best way to enjoy this bizarre, beautiful world is to not impose any literal or symbolic meaning on it. It’s strange and beautiful, creepy and mesmerizing, breathtaking and amazing to behold. Warning: once you start to watch these, you will feel compelled to see the whole series. Give yourself 30 minutes and put your mind on “Pause.”

b o u-1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eJfdXvO0bQg

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