Primordial Ooze

Easter Island Eclipse Trek - Day 5

2010-10-24T23:07:00.000-07:00

I'VE BEEN THROUGH THE DESERT IN A VAN WITH NO NAME

July 8th, 2010
Everyone was bundled up for breakfast in the dining hall at our accommodations in Putre. Everyone, that is, except for bunk mate Jeff and me. While all our traveling companions and even the hotel staff were dressed for Arctic-like temperatures, Jeff and I wore only a t-shirt inside the eating area which was probably a cozy 40ºF/4ºC. Strangely, we were both comfortable even when we stepped outside in the breeze where the temps were even colder.

(Click on any image to enlarge)

The roads we were to be journeying on this particular day were too small for the regular charter bus to handle, so we transferred into 3 vans for the day. These vehicles had a small center aisle with rows of two seats on either side. A new local guide joined us, giving us one guide for each van: Evan, Raphael, and the new guide (whose name I cannot recall at the moment). As we were to be traveling in a fairly remote and rural area with no services for miles, our vans were in radio contact with one another to coordinate stops and keep an eye one one another. There was not room enough in the vans for us and our luggage, so the bags were sent ahead in a separate vehicle to our final destination for the day, Arica, Chile. We were introduced to a 4th guide, Evan (whom we took to calling Evan 2 or Evan Dos). He, like our bags, would not be traveling with us but instead would be waiting for us in Arica where we'd have dinner in his restaurant.

Our little caravan was not on the road for more than 10 minutes before we made a stop at a scenic overlook. This gave us a chance to get a glimpse of Putre and the valley region where we'd spent the night. This was to be the first of many stops throughout the long day's drive. The next place we came to was the rustic village of Socoroma. Here we got out on foot to walk through the region; the vans were too big to navigate the roads in town so they went around and met us on the far side.

We hiked down along a dirt road where the first thing we encountered on the outskirts of Socoroma was the village's cemetery. It was much more decorated than the cemeteries I've visited in the U.S.; it was almost festive. A short walk later was a large wooden arch which greets visitors. As we approached the village, we were reminded by our guides that the people were not part of the scenery, as it were. If we wanted to take pictures of them we must of course ask their permission. Not long after we told this there was an incident with one of the villagers.

One of my companions had stopped and was snapping photos of a home above her on a small hillside. A woman tending her crops on the hillside became upset and asked not to have her photo taken. Our new guide stepped in and translated. She politely reminded the photographer about asking permission. As it turns out, the local woman wasn't even in the picture. When our guide asked for her permission the woman refused. "Are you kidding?" she laughed and pretended to fix up her hair. "Then I'd have to go inside, wash my hair, put on some makeup..."

After Socoroma we made stops in the villages of Chapiquiña, Belen, and Ticnamar. Each of the villages were separated from the others by miles and miles of twisting, turning roads. And each was ensconced in its own little valley. One thing they all had in common was that each one had its own church. Some of these churches dated back to the 1800s. In the case of Ticnamar, the church had to be relocated from its original site due to a flood that had ravaged the region and destroyed the old one.

In Belen we stopped for lunch at the local elementary school. There they had set out a large spread for us of fresh sliced turkey and other sandwich fixings. And the local school children put on a dance for us. The dance involved two boys and two girls, dressed up as "adults". The boys wore trousers, vests, suit jackets, and fedoras. The girls wore bonnets, dresses, and aprons. When the music started they paired up. In the course of the dance they ended up swapping items of clothing so that by the end, they boys were dressed as girls and vice versa.

Besides the planned stops, we made a few unanticipated ones as well. One involved encountering Carabineros, the uniformed Chilean national police force. We had to pull over and stop at a station house. Here the guides got out and made sure we had permission to use the road in that area. Something was up because our guides looked pretty nervous about the whole situation but kept mum on the topic.

Another stop took place when a "birder" in our van shouted "Stop. Stop! STOP!" The second we came to a halt he jumped out the door to get pics of a large predatory bird sitting atop a power pole. Later in the afternoon a stop was made to check out other large birds of prey which were circling high overhead. Turns out we were witness to a rare sight - Andean Condors. Brief stops were also made to give us views of the Inca Trail, a centuries old footpath that could be seen cutting across the landscape and through the scrub brush.

After leaving the villages and valleys behind, the terrain quickly became more barren. We were headed into the heart of the Atacama desert, the driest in the world. There was little in the way of vegetation. The most notable plant in the region is the endangered Candelabra Cactus, which only grows within a certain Goldilocks range of altitude. The roads in this area were unpaved, bumpy, winding, and hellishly dusty. Late in the afternoon our van was headed west into a golden sunset. The light streaming in the front window highlighted the dust. It made the shadows of the driver and our guide in the front appear to stretch through the air into the middle of the van.

It seemed like forever before we left the hills behind and dropped in altitude to the floor of the desert. The first two vans had pulled ahead and disappeared from sight. Suddenly it was a few of us in our touring van in the middle of an ocean of sand. And just as we were coming out of the hills and dunes, we got a flat. Our guide radioed the others, but no one responded. We were alone, broken down, literally in the middle of nowhere with little water and just a few scraps of food. The van had "dualies", twin sets of tires in the back. It was the inside tire on one set of dualies that was blown out, making the repair that much more difficult.

The driver did the bulk of the work, though a few of the guys pitched in and gave a hand. While our driver was working the jack and removing the tires, the guys took turns working the crank to release the spare; it hadn't been used in ages so the compartment holding the spare was stuck and took great effort to break loose. Once set free, they made quick work of replacing it. All told, we were there for about 30 minutes. By the time they'd finished, our shadows were stretching out well behind us across the dusty road. We watched the sun sink below a low-lying bank of clouds on the horizon and soon the desert around us became engulfed in fog, the only precipitation that reaches the Atacama desert.

Sometime later we broke free of the fog. The sun had long since set and there was only fading twilight to see by. Up ahead in the distance we saw a few moving lights. Civilization in view! O! The joy! As we approached the Pan-American highway, two large objects loomed up ahead; a pair of tutelary figures rising up out of the desert sands. Before our guide could finish asking if we'd like to stop, everyone let out a resounding "No". It seems that the groups' patience had seen its breaking point and now all anyone wanted to do was get some dinner and get some sleep.

It didn't take long to get to Arica once we actually got on the Pan-American Highway. After being in such remote, wide open places, it felt very strange to be back in a crowded city with lots of traffic. The other vans arrived about 30 minutes ahead of us and some of them were still checking in at the hotel. They never did hear our driver radio to alert them to our situation. Once everyone was situated we bid adieu to our female-guide-with-no-name then clamored aboard a bus to have dinner at Evan Dos' restaurant. This meal would prove to be the beginning of a very contentious situation.

Easter Island Eclipse Trek - Day 4

2010-09-05T10:14:00.000-07:00

WE'RE OFF ON THE ROAD TO SANTIAGO

July 7th, 2010
Yeah, we may have been on the road again, but we sure weren't singing about it like Hope and Crosby. In truth, Santiago was still two days away. It was Wednesday morning and we were up early. We knew that we had a long ride ahead of us. It was at least an 8 hour journey by bus to Putre, Chile, a former mining town turned tourist destination. The road ahead, while rather bleak looking on a highway map, gave us some unexpected surprises.

(Click on any image to enlarge)

The Altiplano, at an average of 12,300ft (3,750m) in altitude, is kind of like a transition zone between the Amazon rainforest to the east and the Atacama Desert of Chile to the southwest. It is where we'd be spending the majority of our day traveling. After leaving leaving Lake Titicaca and El Alto behind, the road opened up before us and lead across an often-times desolate place. There wasn't much in the way of greenery; it was July, winter in the southern hemisphere, so most everything was dry and brown. Only a few earthen homes dotted the landscape. The two things that were constant were the blue sky overhead and the snow-capped volcanoes.

After about 3 hours driving we made a pit stop at a gas station-cum-curiosity shop. Several people wandered off to a row of questionable little buildings that posed as restrooms. A few were made of corrugated tin siding. Others were made of stone. All were about 5x5 ft square. They reminded me of the 'hot box' in the Paul Newman classic, "Cool Hand Luke". And they looked like the kind of place that would be the perfect home to black widow spiders or psycho killers. Of course it cost money to use the facilities. About the equivalent of $1 USD per person. I think the owners pocketed the money 'cause it sure wasn't being used on up keep.

Inside the market were the typical roadside things you'd expect to find at a U.S. truck stop: postcards, stamps, t-shirts, drinks, snacks, etc. Inside the foyer was a curiosity cabinet. It housed numerous items. Most were jars which held dead lizards, snakes, spiders, etc. There were also things like animal skulls that wouldn't fit in the jars and sat alone on the shelves. But the best part was what was sitting atop the cabinet de curiosidades - an 'actual' Chupacabra skull! Well, that's what the label said. And having never seen a "goat sucker" for myself, I had to take their word for it.

The outside of the market was just as strangely decorated. We made a game of pointing out all the oddities we spotted. There were Halloween-type spider webs, giant rubber spiders, hooded masks from the "Scream" movies, and movie posters in the windows from Frankenstein and The Mummy, just to name a few. None of us knew quite what to make of it. It was all just so surreal.

The next stop was about 50 miles from nowhere. The terrain had become hillier and had more brush than previous areas. Here we encountered shepherds leading their flocks of sheep around. But that wasn't the main reason for our stop. We pulled over to get a closer look at earthen structures meant to house the dead. In a plain sort of way, they reminded me of Gaudi's Church of the Holy Family (Sagrada Familia) in Barcelona, Spain. Both the church and these mummy chambers gave me the eerie impression that they were growing out of the very earth around them. And they seemed to be everywhere you looked. (Earthen burial chambers in eastern Bolivia)

We didn't tarry there for long as people were getting antsy with hunger. As we climbed aboard the bus, there was a run-in with one of the local women. She was angry with one of the Dutch girls. As we pulled away the tiny, ancient woman picked up a potato-sized stone and tossed it at the bus; it struck the side with a dull thump and bounced off harmlessly. Later on I heard a third-hand account of what had transpired. I'm not certain of what actually happened, but my understanding is one of two things took place - the woman was angry because she thought the Dutch girl was taking her picture without permission OR she was angry because she wasn't paid for letting her picture be taken. In either case, our traveling companion insisted she never took the woman's picture. I wasn't sure what was happening when it transpired and from my seat in the back I took a picture out the window of the old woman in the center of the kerfuffle. She had a lot of character and the shot makes a great portrait, but after wrestling over it for some time, I've decided not to post the image.

It wasn't long after we re-boarded the bus that we were climbing back out again. Our stop: Stone City. There were no odd gas stations or creepy lavatories here. There wasn't a single man-made structure in sight. Stone City gets its name from the unusual rock clusters that fill the region. The way they stick up out of the ground and are bunched together gives them the appearance of buildings. This was where we had lunch, among the rocks and desert shrubs. The view was absolutely astounding to behold; immediately around us, the desert, and in the distance, Nevado Sajama, an extinct stratovolcano and the highest peak in all Bolivia.

Sitting atop rocks and boulders we dug into box lunches provided by the tour company. Each kit included 2 pieces of cold fried chicken, an apple, and little desert snacks. At this point in time little cliques had begun to form. The Dutch family pretty much did everything together, apart from the rest of the group. They were tight-knit and kept mostly to themselves. There was also a small family traveling together. They too had little to do with everyone else. The couples did this as well, but often interacted with the clique I was in: the solo travelers. There were 4 or 5 of us and by the end of Day 1 we had bonded. We had so much fun talking and laughing all the time that by and large we did everything together as a group from there on out. (Lunch in Bolivia with the volcano Nevado Sajama as a backdrop)

Alongside the highway at the entrance to Stone City was a very colorfully decorated stone marker. Sadly, this was one of many we'd see throughout our travels on the roads of Bolivia and Chile. It denoted the spot where a loved one had perished in an accident. Some of the ones we saw were merely little piles of stones with a cross atop it or even just a wooden cross pounded into the ground. Others were like this one, with flowers, feathers, beads, and other items attached.

Although the landscape was rather boring and barren, we did see some wildlife, including pink flamingos and vicuña, a wild camelid related to the llama. At one time the vicuña population had dwindled down to 6000 in 1974 and they were declared endangered. Their numbers have since swollen to 350,000. Even so, they are still protected to this day. They are quite nervous and flighty animals with highly sought after wool and will bolt away at the drop of a hat (literally), so seeing them in the wild is a rare treat. We were fortunate to see large herds of them two days in a row. (Wild vicuña at the foot of Nevado Sajama - click image to enlarge)

Hours had passed since we departed the Inca Utama Resort by Lake Titicaca and the group was getting as fidgety as vicuñas. We circumnavigated Nevado Sajama and another pair of volcanoes, then we left Bolivia behind and crossed over into Chile. This was an ordeal that took quite a bit of time and caused frayed nerves. Step 1) Get off the bus and march into a hot, hallway crowded with truck drivers also making the border crossing. Step 2) Wait for what seemed an interminable amount of time in said hallway while customs agents fiddled with papers. Step 3) March across the border on foot, dodging between tractor-trailer rigs and retrieve our bags from the bus. Step 4) Fill out more papers, then let uniformed officers rummage through OR scan our luggage (their choice).

It was here that I was stopped. Small items made of straw which I'd purchased on our first lake outing were being called into question. A reed boat about 6 inches in length was what caused much suspicion. Smaller items (including even smaller reed boats) were okay, but I was told the large one had to be left behind. They thought it might be used for smuggling cocaine in the hollow of its body. Since I hadn't declared it (it wasn't a fruit, vegetable, or wine so I didn't think I had to), I was pulled aside and perp-walked to a small office. I had to fill out the paperwork again, this time signing something that said I knowingly brought illegal products into the country. I was near the back of our group and almost everyone else had gone. I didn't know if anyone had seen me pulled away I was getting nervous that the moment I signed the paper I'd have cuffs slapped on my wrists, but they let me go with a warning. They didn't take anything lightly; I found out later that the reason they were so strict was they had made a HUGE drug bust just weeks before so they were on high alert.

By now it was late afternoon and we still had some driving ahead of us. Our bus pulled into the little mountain pass town of Putre around 7pm and the temperature had dropped considerably. We were told to brace ourselves as the nighttime low was expected to settle down around 5ºF (-15ºC). Putre is a former mining town that was reinventing itself as a tourist location. For as high in altitude as it was (11,400 ft/3500m above sea level), becoming a full-fledged tourist spot was still a lofty goal. Putre didn't seem to have much to offer in the way of things to see and do. The entire town was *maybe* half a mile across and boasted 3 hotels, a hospital, and a cemetery. That was about it.

The buildings which housed our rooms were simple rectangular dorm-like structures with about 8 rooms each. These were scattered about the terraced property and their numbering system had no apparent rhyme or reason to it. The rooms themselves were dark and dingy; I get the feeling that the cold kept any crawly critters away. A small electric space heater was our only source of warmth. Jeff and I kept ours on the Low setting, so by morning our room was probably a balmy 40ºF inside. Dinner was quite interesting. We assembled in the dining area of the main hotel building where they had placed several tables into a giant squared-off U-shape. Here, too, it was cold. You could see your breath indoors. It was chilly enough that even the locals who served us dinner were bundled up in hats, gloves, and heavy down jackets.

Like the dinners at Inca Utama, we had a choice of what we would like to dine on. Our choice that night: Chinese food. And there wasn't a variety of things to choose from, only the one item, doled out of a 20 gallon pot, a noodle/soup dish with chunks of meat. The meat being guanaco, a cousin of the vicuña and llama. The vegetarians in the group had to make do with any energy/snack bars they happened to bring along for hikes. Tom, one of our fellow trekkers said that that dinner in Putre was "one of the most Kafka-esque travel experiences" he'd ever had. There we were, in a remote village high in up in the mountains of Chile, having Chinese food for dinner in a former mining town. It was all very incongruous and funny, though I felt bad for the vegetarians who probably went to bed hungry that night.

Easter Island Eclipse Trek - Day 3

2010-08-28T22:15:00.000-07:00

HER NAME WAS LOLA, SHE WAS A SHOWGIRL

July 6th, 2010
Once again we woke to picture perfect weather; it seems that in Bolivia, blue skies and mild temps abound. Well, at least during our stay they did. And we were getting used to the altitude, too! The day was getting better by the second. And just when I thought it couldn't be more perfect, it improved - our missing luggage arrived. I was on my way to the hydrofoil (late as usual) when I heard the news about our bags. I immediately retrieved my belongings and ran back to the room to deposit them. Now much later than before, I hoofed it to the boat. Ivan was waiting dockside, beckoning me to hurry aboard. I climbed in and apologized to the others for being tardy. But for once it wasn't me that held up proceedings; one or two others made us wait so they could change clothes. Once everyone was in they took a head count. There were 8 fewer of us than previous outings. But today that was expected.

A family from Netherlands was part of our group but they elected to skip this excursion. They had bigger fish to fry. They had arranged to have our uber-talkative tour guide take them into La Paz for the day. This newly formed group was headed to a bar to watch the World Cup semi-final match between Netherlands and Uruguay. The family had arrived in La Paz prior to the group's arrival on the 4th and found a bar with other Dutch folks. They agreed to meet up there again with their compatriots for the semi-final match. About 200 Dutch, all decked out in orange shirts and jerseys, crowded into the little cantina. So in essence, about half the population of Netherlands was there.

Meanwhile, back on the hydrofoil...

The rest of us were gliding across the indigo waters of Lake Titicaca bound for a few islands. Our first stop: Copacabana. When we arrived in the port, I couldn't help but think we'd been somehow magically transported to a Mediterranean isle. The harbor was chock-a-block with multi-colored fishing and recreational boats. The hillsides sported colorful terraced homes and a large white anchor dominated the main dock. We weren't scheduled to be there long so we had to hustle to see the sights. Of course, everything was uphill from the harbor. I was huffing and puffing for the first 20 minutes as we climbed toward the local cathedral. Guess I wasn't as acclimatized as I thought...

Once away from the harbor, which is home to the Bolivian Navy, the streets lost their Mediterranean feel. Our surroundings were now more a stereotype of some nondescript South American country. It was as though we'd walked onto a movie set. It was kind of surreal. Our pathway finally leveled out and we were in the heart of town. There we visited the Basilica de Virgen de la Candelaria, which houses the statue of La Virgen de Candelaria (The Dark Virgin of the Lake). The basilica is a blindingly white Moorish-styled cathedral that is considered the most important pilgrimage stop in all of Bolivia. Daily Benedicions de Movildades (blessings of automobiles) take place on the street in front. To get to the cathedral we waded through numerous vehicles (buses, cars, and trucks) all decked out by their owners with flower garlands, flags, and ribbons.

Also on the street are flocks of vendors selling little trinkets of seemingly random objects, but in miniature; cars, play money, houses, diplomas, soccer balls, and so much more. The items are purchased and then brought into the basilica so that they may be blessed. If you want a new car, you have a miniature blessed. If you want to do well in school, you have a mini diploma blessed, and so on. Times are definitely tough as evidenced by the number of people buying trinkets to be blessed. Of course there are also the usual touristy things for sale in town, but away from the cathedral. It was fun strolling the streets and checking out all the t-shirts that emulated well-known brand name products, but with a twist.

We returned to the hydrofoil and set out for our next stop: The Temple Of The Virgins on Isla de la Luna (Island of the Moon). Access to the island from the boat was via a rickety wooden dock that even Indiana Jones would hesitate to cross. Once safely on land we had to, you guessed it, climb more stairs! These were earthen switchbacks lined with stone. From the lake to the temple we probably hiked up 100 ft (30m) vertically. It doesn't sound like much, but when you're already at 13,000+ ft (3900+ meters) in altitude and struggling to breathe, those extra few feet can be daunting. Of course, it doesn't help one's ego when little women who are probably 60 years old practically jog past you on the incline so they can sell you their wares at the temple site.
(Aymara woman selling necklaces on Isla de la Luna)

The temple itself was very modest. By the looks of it I would guess that it hadn't been used in centuries. The architecture bore a striking resemblance to the temple at Tiwanaku. The site wasn't very large and we could walk up to it but not go inside, so we didn't spend that much time there. Most of the stay was used up haggling with the women selling necklaces. Compared to Copacabana, Isla de la Luna was quite primitive. The only other structure we saw was a single home, though we didn't go very far on the little postage stamp-sized island. The view from the temple was breathtaking; at your feet was the lake, and beyond it were snow-capped mountains.

Once more we dared to cross the rickety dock and board our trusty lake steed, the Sun Arrow. We chugged over to our third and final island for the day, Isla del Sol (Island of the Sun). There we had lunch on a grassy terrace at "Uma Kollu", an 'Archeological Restaurant'. If you wanted lunch, you had to climb. This time it was even steeper and higher than the temple at Isla de la Luna. I'm not the only one who about collapsed into a chair when we arrived. Though the food and service made up for the strenuous hike to get there. Here, too, I felt I was out of place and time; with the linen-covered tables and cloth umbrellas overhead, the setting was almost French in nature. Yet the view conflicted with that feeling; between the surrounding pine trees you could catch glimpses of the lake below and the distant snowy mountains. It was all very alpine, yet not, at the same time.

When lunch was over we had the option of proceeding directly back to the boat or to hike even further uphill to see the local 'Fountain of Youth'. A few elected to hike back down and wait at the boat. My thinking was I was rested, fed, and watered, and I had come all that way, so I may as well go for broke and see everything I could, altitude be damned. The hike up was beautiful. A little gurgling stream flowed alongside the stone and earthen trail. One of my fellow travelers and I took turns encouraging each other as we huffed and puffed our way uphill. We took frequent stops along the path to let others pass us by. And then finally we reached our destination - the Fountain of Youth.

It wasn't at all what I expected.

I thought it would be really flashy and showy like the Trevi Fountain in Rome. Like maybe the local artisans carved stone sculptures around it to honor its multiple blessings of abundant health, yada yada yada. Nope. It wasn't all like that. It was simply a stone wall with two U-shaped troughs sticking out and a square catch basin below. Okay, so Bolivians are masters of the subdued and understated. Several in the group joked about drinking the water. Only one did; a teenager traveling with his mom. The trip was his high school graduation present. He took a sip or two of the water. And he was mildly sick for the next two days.

On the boat I spoke with an elderly woman from the group who was traveling with her daughter. "Didn't you want to see the fountain?" I asked her.

"Nope. It isn't all that impressive. Besides, I've seen it before." Turns out she is an archaeologist.

I smiled at her. "Well, gee, thanks a lot. You could've saved me the hike if you knew it wasn't all that great."

She winked and gave me an evil grin. "Yeah, I could have..."

On the return trip across the lake to our hotel, I was transported yet again to another era. This time it felt like the 1950s. Several of the vessel's crew were crowded around a small transistor radio, straining to hear the World Cup game through tons of static (and vuvuzelas). I went up and joined them at their spot right behind the captain to hear the outcome firsthand. I didn't understand half of what the announcers said, but I knew when a goal was scored by the cheers and screams of both the crowds and the announcers.

After the game I spoke at length with a new tour guide who had joined us for this part of the journey. He pointed out the distant mountains that lay ahead of us and explained how barren they looked. "Officially," he said, "the government claims that 40% of the snow and glaciers have been lost to global warming. I've lived here all my life. I grew up on the lake. I'd say it's more like 50% is gone. When I was a child in school we were taught about the 'perpetual snows', but that's all changed in my lifetime. Most of it has disappeared in the last two or three years." (View of Isla de La Luna, as seen from Isla del Sol)

The Dutch family rejoined us in the hotel's restaurant while we were having dinner. They came in whooping and cheering. Their beloved team had beat Uruguay 3 - 2. They were moving on to the final game to vie for the World Cup. Only one problem though... the final match was to take place at the same time as the eclipse! They were totally conflicted about what to do: somehow find a place on Easter Island that would be open and showing the game, OR watch the eclipse and find a replay of the game online later and hope no one spoiled the outcome for them.

After dinner we were given the opportunity to visit a local witch doctor who spent some of his time living in the eco-village next door to the hotel. First we sat through a presentation about the importance of witch doctors and coca in Bolivian culture. Then we went over to his place and sat with him. Our visit started with him greeting us in his language, Aymara, which was then translated for us by Ivan. I have to say, the witch doctor was a real showman. As soon as Ivan finished translating, the witch doctor flicked his hand toward the fireplace near him and a giant ball of flame roared out.

Soon he began fielding questions from our group, and using coca leaves, do fortunetelling. The leaves have both light and dark sides. He'd flip about a dozen in the air one-at-a-time. Light side up was good, and dark side up not so good. Their position and coloring were used to read fortunes. Pretty cool experience to sit in on and watch. And that was how we ended our final night at Lake Titicaca. The following morning we'd be leaving the lake and the Alti-Plano behind.

Easter Island Eclipse Trek - Day 2

2010-08-03T00:13:00.000-07:00

GATEWAY OF THE SUN

July 5th, 2010
The first day of the tour was pretty grueling. With the flights from L.A. to Miami to Bolivia and then touring all day shortly after arriving, I was up for nearly 36 hours straight. By late afternoon the combination of sleep deprivation and altitude took its toll - I thought I was going to be sick. I had 2 or 3 cups of coca tea to alleviate the affects of altitude. Dinner and a shower did wonders, though the coca tea made me feel twitchy when I crawled into bed.

I woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. Roommate Jeff loaned me a clean shirt for the day's activities as my luggage (as well as that of about 6 or 7 others) did not arrive in La Paz with us on the 4th. The beds in our hotel room were small, just like the people of Bolivia. I'm 6' tall and Jeff is about 6'2". I don't think the beds were designed with large Westerners in mind. Our "Inca-sized" beds became a running joke for the duration of the trip; even with our heads up against the headboards, our feet still dangled over the ends of the beds. Between that and both of us snoring, it was like something out of a Three Stooges routine.

Breakfast in the hotel restaurant included our choice of toast, fresh fruit, eggs (with or without bacon or ham), mango juice, orange juice, coffee, regular tea, and coca tea. The coffee served in Bolivia is strong, and I mean strong. It's black as pitch, and unlike its North American cousin served in diners, dense enough that light will not pass through it. I've never seen coffee so black! Only a small amount is served, (about 1/2 the size of a shot of espresso), which is in turn thinned with milk or hot water. Even then there is not enough to fill an 8oz coffee cup. From what Ivan our guide told me it's still quite potent after having been diluted.

After breakfast we slathered ourselves with sunblock, donned our broad-brimmed hats**, and grabbed our cameras and daypacks in preparation for a long trip to see the ancient temples of Tiwanaku (pr: TEA-juan-AH-coo). The bus trip took us back through El Alto, but it was a smoother and quicker since it was Monday and there were fewer farmers markets to contend with. Even so it was about a 90 minute ride to the temple complex.

Tiwanaku greeted us with pristine azure skies and a gentle warm breeze. We started our visit there by heading into a museum for a short talk about the history of the region and the temple complex. Another guide joined us for this portion of the trip. Compared to quiet little Ivan, this guy was a talker! Boy could he talk. And talk. Ivan took 5 minutes and gave a good explanation of what we were to see, then his fellow guide jumped in. This guy went on for about 10 to 15 minutes; people got fidgety and started shifting their weight from one foot to the other as they waited to see it all first-hand instead of hearing about it.

After what seemed like forever we stepped back outside and crossed through the barbed-wire fence surrounding the temple complex. At first there wasn't much to see, then Ivan pointed out a low hill nearby, a portion of the complex that for centuries had been mistaken for part of the geography of the region. This was the temple called Akapana, which has barely begun to be excavated.

There wasn't much there in the way of structures. To be certain, these were ancient ruins dating back to AD 500 - 1000. Most of what we saw were block walls that made up the base of what once was. Even so, it was still quite impressive. Compared to some tourist destination like Disneyland, the complex at Tiwanaku is relatively small. What makes it so fascinating (besides the cultural aspect) is the detail of its construction. Using only crude tools, they somehow managed to cut and place stones with extreme precision.

And not only were they skilled builders, they were amazing artisans. Their handiwork was all around us. The first evidence of this we encountered was The Gateway Of The Sun, (aka The Sun Gate) situated in an open temple called Kalasasaya. The exact purpose of the stone archway is not known, though it is believed that part of it represents a calendar. Across its face are 48 carvings of winged figures, some with human faces and some with condor heads. Considering their age and the weathering brought on by such a harsh environment, they have held up well.

We turned our backs on the Sun Gate and moved to the far end of Kalasasaya. There we were met by a large stone sculpture known as "El Fraile" (The Friar). In a vague and creepy way it reminded me of Gort from "The Day The Earth Stood Still" (from the classic 50s version with Michael Rennie). Once again I couldn't help but to be in awe of the skill of the carvers. From a distance the surface of the monolith looks smooth. But with each step closer it became more obvious that it was covered in small detailed carvings from head to toe.

At the end of Kalasasaya furthest from the Sun Gate there are a series of steps carved from a single piece of red stone, leading down to another temple. Spanning the steps is a large stone arch. A string of barbed wire is there to prevent visitors from using the stairs. We used another, less impressive, smaller set of steps on the south side of the temple instead. The temple beside Kalasasaya is interesting because it is sunken in the ground. This was used as part of their worship of the moon.

The walls of this special square pit were lined with ruddy stones. Every few feet small carved heads protruded from the face of the walls. They were all about the same size, though their color was frequently lighter, making them really stand out from their surrounds. If you positioned yourself in the right spot near the center of the pit, Gort was nicely framed in the verbotten arch.

Next stop at the complex was the large hill. Not much is known about it other than that it was designed to collect water in a large pool in its center. Lining the top of the hill around the pool are several large roughly rectangular stones. It has been discovered that they have special qualities that prevent compasses from pointing north. Each stone makes the compass point somewhere else.

After visiting the complex we went to a nearby restaurant. The tour company prepared us box lunches, but worked out a deal in advance with a local restaurant. We were allowed to eat our meal of cold fried chicken in the restaurant. The owners of the establishment did this in the hopes we'd buy drinks there. Everyone was happy to oblige and bought sodas, bottled water (sin gas), and in some cases, beer.

Lunch was followed by a trip to another archaeological site: Puma Punku. It was nowhere near the size of Tiwanaku, but nevertheless it was impressive for the precision of their interlocking stones. When we had our fill of Puma Punku we boarded our bus and were taken back to the museum. It was there that Ivan said something that made my ears prick up. And mine weren't the only ones. I could immediately pick out the science fiction fans in our group. They were the ones with their heads cocked slightly to one side, straining to hear what Ivan was saying. He was pointing to a sort of framed doorway made of stone - this was the Star Gate.

When Ivan said "Star Gate", I felt a tingle go down my spine. Unlike its circular cousins in the TV series and movies of the same name, this one did not have special markings on its surface. Nor did a big glowing swoosh of water erupt from it. Though there was what looked like a DHD sitting nearby as part of the display. Ivan was a little confused at the reaction some of us had over hearing its name mentioned, but then he'd never heard of the movies or shows.

We then moved to another part of the museum that gave the impression of stepping into an indoor amphitheatre. In the center of the dimly lit room was another carved monolith, but this one easily dwarfed The Friar in the Kalasasaya courtyard. It had to be at least 20ft in height. And like The Friar, it has what appear to be two left hands, though no one knows for sure why they were carved in this fashion.

Our group was ushered back to our waiting bus for the ride back to our lakeside hotel. Once we arrived there we had some free time before dinner. I was still feeling a little woozy from the thin air at altitude so I asked for oxygen at the front desk. I took in the allowed 5 minutes worth, which only took the edge off the symptoms.

After dinner we traipsed through the dark to a small thatch-roofed building, not much larger than a two-car garage. Inside were rows of wooden benches. Once we were all situated we were treated to a DVD presentation about astronomy and southern constellations. As the show came to an end, the roof of the building slid out of the way to reveal a night sky dominated by the brilliant trail of the Milky Way.

Outside a few telescopes were set up to let us get closer views of stars, planets, galaxies, and nebulae. The skies were dark and gorgeous, allowing us unparalleled astronomical viewing. That left me with a smile on my face as I crawled into bed.

**We'd been warned beforehand that at extreme altitudes such as we experienced, the UV is quite high and potentially dangerous, hence the excess sun protection.

CLICK HERE TO JUMP TO DAY ONE

Easter Island Eclipse Trek - Day 1

2010-08-02T16:40:00.000-07:00

THE HIGHEST ELEVATOR IN THE WORLD

July 4th, 2010
Traveling is vastly easier than it used to be. Early explorers had to spend months, even years securing funding from wealthy patrons, then picking and hiring crews, and ultimately pack shiploads of supplies for their grand voyages. Today, if you're lucky and can scrimp and save enough, you can get online and find the vacation destination of your choice and be there in as little as a few days. With the world at our fingertips and so many destinations to choose from, it can be difficult to narrow down your options. Me? I like to play a game of Cosmic Roulette and let Nature decide where I'll be traveling next. And in July 2010, that is how I came to be riding in "The Highest Elevator In The World".

I've centered my last few major vacations around something magical that happens in a tiny fraction of our skies; a grand celestial dance of light and shadow involving the Earth, moon, and sun. It occurs when the moon slips between the other two bodies, and for a few glorious moments, eclipses the sun. It is quite astonishing to see. For a short time, day becomes night, stars and planets appear in the daytime sky, and most phenomenal of all, there is what appears to be an infinitely black hole in the sky ringed by fiery white light. Then before you know it, it's over. And you are planning a trip to see the next one, wherever that may take you.

My most recent journey was a dream come true. It combined several things at once - My love of travel, my enthusiasm for astronomy and photography, and visiting some place I've wanted to go since I first heard about it as a child: Easter Island. The trip also got me that much closer to completing a travel goal: To set foot on all 7 of the world's continents. (Traveling to South America has put me on 5 continents. Only Asia and Antarctica to go.)

The first leg of the trip took me from Los Angeles to Miami. Due to delays, I nearly missed my connecting flight in Florida. When I got to the gate there was no one around, but the departure time printed on my ticket indicated I still had 15 minutes to spare. A woman came up the extendable causeway from the plane and saw me. She checked my boarding pass and passport then we ran down the ramp to the plane. She balled her hand into a fist and pounded on the plane's door until they opened up and let me in. As I crossed the threshold I did my usual pre-flight ritual: I patted the aluminum skin on the exterior of the jet alongside the open door, a gesture of my faith and trust in the vehicle that it will get me there alive and in one piece. (Since I began this ritual years ago, it has kept me safe 100% of the time.)

Miami disappeared into the distance as the plane headed southeast to Bolivia. Leg Two had begun. It was an uneventful flight (the best kind!) and we arrived at El Alto airport on the outskirts of La Paz just before sunrise. As people shuffled through the lines in customs, they spotted the familiar pink travel tags issued to us by Astronomical Tours, dangling on the bags of other travelers. It was our first introduction to the people with whom we'd be traveling for the next 2 weeks.

We'd arrived and made it through security, now came the next hurdle: the altitude. The majority of people on this trip had come from sea level and we were now standing at 13,325 feet (4061 m) above sea level. The air is much thinner and your body struggles to cope. It can take a few days to get acclimated, so a few things are offered to help lessen the effects, including doses of pure oxygen, coca tea (tea with small amounts of coca leaves) or dried coca leaves to chew on. Since we weren't acclimated yet, porters helped with our bags so we wouldn't keel over trying to do it ourselves.

Our local guide, Ivan, (pronounced EE-von) shepherded us into a large motorcoach and we were on our way! From Bolivia's Altiplano (high plain) we watched the sun rise over the snow-capped Andes and saw the city around us come to life. The bus ride to the hotel was about 90 minutes of awe and terror. It wasn't that the driver was fast or crazy, but every vehicle swerved, swayed, and honked as they made their way around. From what I could tell, the honking was the drivers' way of letting pedestrians, bicyclists, and cart vendors lining the streets know that if they stepped so much as an inch in the wrong direction, they'd be so much roadkill.

It was Sunday, so everyone was headed out to sell their wares, making the streets near impossible to navigate. People were sandwiched in minivans disguised as buses. Men and boys stood on top of buses and caught luggage tossed up to them for storage while traveling. Tiny women wearing large bowler hats and colorful woven shawls waddled from place to place. Stray dogs darted between cars, vendors, and pedestrians, and fought over scraps of garbage, while a few others napped in the early morning sun. The going was slow through El Alto, a lively and chaotic suburb of La Paz. But once we got through and were in the countryside, the driver was able to pick up the pace; there was less swerving, but still the occasional honk. We arrived at our hotel, the Inca Utama Resort, around 9am. After checking in I headed up to my room on the 2nd floor. Even though it wasn't very high up, Ivan still recommended I take the elevator which bore the gold plaque inside declaring its bit of infamy.

When I entered my hotel room I met Jeff, my roommate for the journey, for the first time. We hit it off instantly. A very funny guy from Kentucky who bears an uncanny resemblance to Brett Favre. Our stay in Bolivia was short, so no time was wasted lazing about. Not long after we checked in we clambored aboard one of the hotel's hydrofoils and cruised across the lake to a small village.

From there we went to Isla Chisawa, one of Lake Titicaca's Floating Islands, where we visited a family who lived there. Then it was back in the hydrofoil to the hotel where we had dinner in their restaurant. Earlier in the day we looked at the menu and signed up for that evening's selection. There was something for everyone. Among our options were fresh lake trout, llama, chicken, and vegetarian dishes. I opted for a llama steak. That was something special. It was so good, I had it again two nights later.

To see images from this trip, use this URL and click on the album "The Highest Elevator In The World".

CLICK HERE to jump to DAY TWO

The Lonliness of the Long-winded Writer

2009-08-22T18:29:00.000-07:00

If you ever decide to become a writer, expect to spend lots of time alone.

Writing is a very solitary process. Unless you are co-authoring something, writing is a one-person job. It's just you and your computer (or a pen and a writing tablet if you prefer to scribble long hand), and no one else. The story is, after all, coming from within you. Distractions are the hardest part. Seeing as how I'm no Barker or King, I don't have some island resort getaway to hole up in and churn out the words. I don't know that is what Clive or Stephen do, actually, I'm just sayin'... Me, I'm still a working stiff with a day job that has to put up with distractions, i.e., door-to-door solicitors, the neighbor's yappy little dog, loud passenger jets flying overhead. You know, life in pretty much any urban metropolis.

I'm luckier than most in the current economy and was able to afford a small home to call my own. I've set aside one room as my official "writing room" where I've set up my computer and will soon be turning part of it into a small research library. That is something else that I never factored into writing: Research. Seems that readers are more sophisticated than they used to be. Things have to actually be semi-factual or some people get all in a tizzy. I actually heard about an author who wrote in the intro to one of her books, (and I'm paraphrasing here), This is a work of fiction. I made all this stuff up. It probably isn't historically accurate, so don't write to me and bitch about it. Get a life and get over it.

The thing is, I prefer things to be as accurate as possible when I'm writing something. In my western novel, for example, I've done and continue to do research into the era in which it takes place. The reason being that you cannot mix eras and have the story be believable. You don't want to be writing a serious novel and have your Pony Express riders being chased down by a chopper gang on Harleys. It wouldn't make sense and readers would stop right there and chuck it in the garbage where it belongs. The same thing doesn't necessarily hold true for sci-fi, horror, or fantasy, though. In those genres, readers kind of expect the extraordinary and are more forgiving, than say, someone reading a biography of Abraham Lincoln.

Even so, when I'm writing a zombie story, I still want the details to be as accurate as possible. Why go to all the trouble and do the research? Because when the reader gets into the story, I feel that it makes it all that much more creepier when they can relate to the surroundings. You take an ordinary, everyday setting with which your readers are familiar, then add in zombies, ghouls, demons, etc. By having the setting as realistic as possible, the reader can put themselves in the protagonist's shoes, and experience it along with them. Could this happen to me? In my home?

That was the approach I took when writing The Measure of a Man: Make the setting as believable as possible, then bring on the monsters. Apparently it worked. It has now garnered more positive editorial reviews. The latest is from Creature Feature Tomb of Horror which said my tale "brings a fresh slant to the zombie trope with [a] well-drawn and chilling period tale of ocean-going ghouls."

So, writing isn't a social occupation where you can spend time in the company break room swapping lies over coffee and bagels with your coworkers. It is a solitary effort where you may spend hours or even days without so much as seeing another human, but it has its rewards. As a newly published author, it is cool to know that what I've written, something that came from my imagination while sitting in front of my computer and daydreaming, has thrilled and chilled complete strangers.

Beginnings

2009-08-09T16:34:00.000-07:00

Life seems to have a mind of its own. You plan for this and you plan for that, but it does not always work out exactly the way you wanted. And often times, what you hadn't planned for turns out to be the right thing.

I never set out to be an author, but here I am with two short stories published, a novel in its third draft, and two novels on the back burner. Who is to blame for this? Well, I could blame the good Sisters of my parochial school or the Jesuit priests and lay teachers at my high school for giving me a good education. They did get me excited about reading, but they didn't push me towards writing. Putting pen to paper and getting it published was something that happened years after my formal education ended.

So how did I become a wordsmith / mercenary writer / word-slinger? I mostly blame it on two people: Chris Baty of NaNoWriMo, and Del Howison, owner of the horror book and gift store Dark Delicacies. Sure, I'd written a few things here and there, but nothing I'd ever have dared submit for publication. Then a few years ago I heard about NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) - the Write a 50,000 Word Novel in 30 Days Challenge. I thought, How hard can it be?

Turns out it was a little more difficult than I'd initially anticipated. To come up with a complete novel with a minimum of 50k words in thirty days, that works out to roughly 1700 words per day you have to be cranking out. That's about 7 pages of writing, with 250 words per page. When you're not used to writing much beyond a typical email to family and friends, that is a lot. So you pretty much need to get a caffeine IV going to keep pumping out the words.

Okay, so I decided to take the challenge, then what? Well, I couldn't just bang out 50k words of gobbledy-gook. What would be the point? I needed a story. Over lunch one day at work we got on the topic of people we knew who had weird or creepy names. One name was brought up that I thought was pretty cool, and the seed was planted. Based on that, I came up with a rough outline for a story. I had a beginning, an end, and a few plot points I wanted to hit along the way. I was set to go.

Come November 1st, NaNoWriMo began and I started slinging out the words. I was on my way! Then a funny thing happened - the story took on a life of its own. The characters and the main plot were there, but somehow the story started going where it wanted to go. I would finish writing several pages and think, Where the Hell did that come from? It was as though someone else had taken control of my body and I was just along for the ride.

In the midst of all this, I'd sometimes get stuck for what was to happen next in the story. When that took place, I'd save (and triple back up) what I'd been doing then take a long walk to clear out my mind. I also brought along a pen and a pocket-sized notebook in case any ideas came to me while I was out. On one such walk, the ideas came to me in a flood. I needed some place to sit and write it all down so I stopped at a favorite local haunt to have lunch. That's when I ran into Del. I was so engrossed in writing my notes I brushed past him without a word. "That's okay," he shouted sarcastically across the room, "just ignore me."

I finished scribbling down my thoughts then went back and talked to him. I explained what I was doing and Del's eyes lit up. "Two of the writers in my writers group are doing the same thing. We're having our monthly meeting tonight. Why don't you join us?"

That night I joined his group, The Dark Delicacies Writers Group. I found myself rubbing elbows with a talented group of authors whose genre of choice is horror. The funny thing was, I'd never written a horror story in my life.

By month's end I met the NaNo Challenge, and then some. When I submitted my manuscript for an official word count, I clocked in at over 65,000 words. But the story was nowhere close to being finished. I took a breather from the frenetic pace of NaNo-ing and tried my hand at writing short horror stories. I wrote one or two, but felt guilty that I hadn't truly finished my novel. I wrote a few more short horror pieces then went back to writing the novel. There are few things so gratifying as writing two simple words: The End

I did it. I wrote my first novel. I kept my beginning, middle, and end, and even worked in a few other plot twists along the way, and it all came together in the end. I took another break from the novel and wrote some more horror stories. One of them ended up in the 2nd issue of the horror e-zine Necrotic Tissue. My offering was Booty Call, a flash fiction piece that per the submission guidelines was to be exactly 100 words, including the title. My first published piece!

Since then I've been alternating between writing horror and editing my western novel. Yep, you read that right. The NaNo novel is a western set in pre-Civil War Missouri. Durning that time I proposed that we, as a group of writers, put out a collection of our works. A calling card if you will. It took time and patience, but the result is the horror anthology Midnight Walk. It has received rave reviews from Hellnotes, Famous Monsters of Filmland, Horror Drive-in, and Fatally Yours, among others.

My piece in this collection is The Measure of a Man, which has been singled out repeatedly by editorial reviewers. They've raved about it saying "...Tired as I am of zombies I was fully captivated by the vivid The Measure Of A Man, a superb story...", as well as it being "...absolutely fabulous...", "...very well written and a fine example of this type of story..." and it was twice picked out as one of the faves in the anthology.

So, I'm off and running in my writing career. I have one or two more horror stories I'm shopping around, but right now my main focus is editing my western novel. During a recent writers workshop I attended, one of the faculty there, a publisher, raved about it as possibly being this generation's Tom Sawyer. Those are big shoes to fill, so I have some work ahead of me. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to get back to editing.

The Mugshot We Deserved to See

2005-10-22T23:15:00.000-07:00

If you or I or any of our friends were made to be fingerprinted and have our criminal mugshot taken, it would not have been a nice portrait. But Rep. Tom DeLay, indicted for money laundering, was not subject to what your average citizen would have experienced if they were indicted for the same crime. Instead, DeLay's mugshot looks more like a campaign photo. (The original mugshot is the color image on the right)

Through the magic of editing, seen below is the mugshot of Tom DeLay that America deserved to see. Even if he is found innocent in a court of law, he is still guilty of questionable practices and dealings, as evidenced by his THREE Ethics Violations, for which he was unanimously reprimanded by the bipartisan House Ethics Committee. Click on the image for a larger, Post Office Mugshot Gallery version, suitable for framing.

The USS Helena Handbasket

2005-10-05T21:13:00.000-07:00

(Click on image for larger view)

Ah, the joys of photo manipulation. My apologies to the real artists who created the original figurehead.

Bush: Worst Disaster...

2005-09-22T15:49:00.000-07:00

I don't know if this was intentional on the part of the folks at BSkyB or just a great moment in bad timing. The text below the image of Bush says it all.

(Click on the image for a larger view)
According to the folks over at Snopes.com, this is the real deal.

Give that man a medal!

2005-09-21T18:50:00.000-07:00

A passenger jet left Burbank (CA) airport bound for New York. It never made it. Shortly after takeoff, the flight crew of the JetBlue airliner found that there was a warning light indicating a problem with their landing gear. They changed course and headed towards Long Beach where they did a low pass near the airport tower to visually confirm the problem.

The tower saw the trouble: the front landing gear under the nose of the plane had turned about 90 degrees off center, effectively turning it sideways. No one was exactly sure how the wheel would respond when a landing was attempted. It was decided to bring the plane down at Los Angeles International airport (LAX), because it has the longest runways in the area, with the widest stretch of land between buildings and runway.

Before a landing was attempted, the plane circled LAX for a few hours, burning off as much fuel as possible to lighten the jet. By this time, every news channel was covering the story. People all over the U.S. were glued to their TVs. News anchors were interviewing every conceivable expert: pilots who frequently flew that particular model of jet; aerodynamic engineers familiar with emergency landings; psychologists talking about what the passengers were experiencing.

It was a media blitzkreig. There were cameras on the ground, cameras in the air. Every possible angle was covered of this impending disaster. One hundred and forty-five lives were at stake. The jet kept circling, burning off fuel. Updates were frequently given. "We're being told the plane will attempt to land at 5pm". The updates were frequently changed. "We're now being told it will land at 5:30pm". Eventually, the plane began it's descent just after 6pm, west coast time.

As the plane began it's final approach, all theories of the possible outcome had been spent. It was fairly well agreed that there were 3 things that could happen:
1) The nose gear would right itself once it touched the ground and the plane would land safely.
2) The nose gear would collapse once it hit the ground and the plane would belly in.
3) The right angle of the wheel would cause the plane to veer wildly to either the left or the right, sending it off the runway towards buildings.

The plane began it's descent. Most of the TV talking heads became quiet, observing a moment of silence as America watched breathlessly. Frequent, rapidfire updates on the distance to landing were given: "2 miles out", "1 mile out", "A half mile out", "500 feet", "100 feet".

The plane glided in and the pilot kept the plane just above the runway for what seemed an eternity. He finally let the rear wheels just brush against the ground. The wheels then dropped down and firmly grabbed the runway. The pilot rode the jet on it's rear wheels for several seconds, burning off speed before letting the nose touch down.

The moment had come. Because the front gear was sideways, the now 'rear' tire of the two parallel tires was lower than the 'front' tire. The pilot eased the nose down until the 'rear' tire of the front gear touched. A puff of smoke shot out into the late afternoon sunlight. The JetBlue airliner put more weight on the gear, and with it, plumes of smoke erupted from the tire. Very rapidly, the 'rear' tire disintegrated, exposing it's metal hub to the ground. Brilliant yellow-white sparks began to form a trail beneath the nose of the plane. Fire crews on the ground had already begun to chase the plane, starting the second the true rear wheels touched ground.

The 'front' tire was now touching the ground, but was overshadowed by the shower of sparks lighting up the runway. Through it all, the pilot kept the plane perfectly straight on it's path down the runway, never veering off course. The jet finally, miraculously, came to a halt on the runway. The flume of sparks had stopped. The nose gear held up the plane, as though it were a normal landing. No one was hurt in the landing. LAX was chosen for a landing site because of the length of its runways, an immense 12,000 feet. The landing used up nearly all that distance. It was pretty much a picture perfect landing.

In what has to be one of the most surreal situation in which to be involved, passengers on the plane later said that they were watching themselves landing, via their personal seat monitors tuned to MSNBC. They all praised the flight crew for being thoroughly professional and reassuring througout the whole incident.

Put in contrast to what the world saw unfolding during the recent hurricane Katrina disaster, this landing showed the difference between capable, qualified people doing what they are trained to do, as opposed to political cronies like Michael Brown, the deposed head FEMA, who were completely unqualified to hold their position.
LAX frequently performs simulations and practices for just such an emergency. Their training showed. If all the money spent on Homeland Security were put into training, planning AND supplies, we might have seen a much bigger difference in the aftermath of hurricane Katrina.

Experimenting with pumpkin designs

2005-09-21T15:06:00.000-07:00

I've always been envious of those well-carved pumpkins. You know the ones, with fancy details, pictures, etc. I decided to give it a go myself this year. I came up with a design I wanted to try out
Once I was happy with that, I used tracing (or transfer) paper to imprint the design directly onto the face of a mid-sized pumpkin. I then used a short-bladed carving knife to trace the image into the skin of the pumpkin. The makers of the knife -claim- that it is the best knife for carving wood, but I found that it was worthless for that use. Although, it DOES do a mean cutting job on a pumpkin.

For this portion of the carving, I found that using a dish-drying rack made a nice place to hold the pumpkin at an angle, facing up to me. (I did this all standing up at the kitchen counter / sink area) I carefully cut away the areas of the pumpkin skin that would represent the lighter areas of the design. I left the dark areas untouched. I cut it away in small sections so I wouldn't accidentally cut away the dark areas.
With the design done, I then cut open the top of the pumpkin and scooped out the meat and seeds. I used the Pumpkin Masters™ carving kit to do this portion of the process. With the scooper tool, I scraped away at the wall of the pumpkin directly behind the peeled image. I was especially careful to NOT poke through the skin of the pumpkin, which could ruin the design. The thinner the wall, the more light shows through. To test out the pumpkin, which I was doing using in the kitchen sink, I held it up to the kitchen window, with the peeled design facing away from me. Looking down through the open top of the pumpkin, I could see which areas let light through and which didn't. Then I'd scrape away the appropriate areas.

After doing all this I dropped in a tea light candle for illumination. I am very happy with the end results.

Comparing the original sketch to the finished pumpkin, the end product did come out pretty close in appearance, although I did change the teeth. Partly because it looked better, and partly because the divisions between the teeth were very easy to break. To accentuate the teeth, I painted the gaps black, with a water-based craft paint.

I'm now working on sketches for new designs. The week or so before Halloween, I hope to have 5 to 6 new designs ready to go, to line the stairs leading up to my flat. I plan on posting images of those here, when complete.

Note to self:

2005-09-21T14:51:00.000-07:00

Don't let the mind drift when you are using a sharp metal object next to your throat

Especially when there is a known anomalie in that region

This is not special effects make-up for a Halloween costume. This is the real deal.

Idiotic drivers

2005-09-20T21:50:00.000-07:00

Earlier this evening I was walking across the parking lot of the local grocery store. As I neared the driveway, I noticed a van having a difficult time negotiating the driveway leading into the lot. Since I had to cross there, I gave the driver wide berth, so I stood and waited for them. As they passed in front of me, I could see what was causing the problem: the driver was HOLDING A DOG WITH THEIR LEFT HAND AND STEERING WITH THEIR RIGHT.

Of all the stupid, idiotic things I've seen, this one has to be one of worst. Pick your nose while driving? Disgusting, but whatever. Talking on a hand held cellphone? Stupid, offensive and dangerous. There is no excuse for that behaviour, what with modern technology and HEADSETS. But holding a dog?!? That should be an offense punishable by being stuck in traffic on the I-10 freeway from 9am - 3pm, in the desert, every day in August, with no A/C, no radio and no place to pull over and pee. We'll allow you food and liquid.

How would this nimrod of a human explain herself to a cop if she ran over and killed a child?!? "Well, gee officer Jones... I didn't mean to kill little Billy Smith, but poor little Gizmo likes to see where we're going and he can't see from the passenger seat cause he's too small, so it makes him happy when I hold him with one hand while driving."

Many years ago my brother and I were witness to another stupid driver as we were coming home from a camping trip. At that time he imparted to me this bit of wisdom:
"Stupidity like that will eventually correct itself. Unfortunately, the stupid driver probably won't be the only one injured when they learn their lesson."

Freakin' morons.

♫ By the light, of the silvery moon... ♫

2005-08-20T22:27:00.000-07:00

I am fortunate to count among my friends, a handful of private pilots. I was extremely fortunate enough to have been invited to join some of them on an outting last night. We flew out of a small local airport in two planes and cruised about 30 minutes north of Los Angeles, landing at an airfield in the desert town of Rosamond. When we arrived, we were about 4 miles from Edwards Air Force Base where the recent Space Shuttle mission ended.

I was a passenger in a small single prop plane with my friend and his brother and we arrived about 5 minutes before our other friends in a twin prop plane. We left just before sunset, hugging the mountains as we passed over, and arrived just as the sun dropped below the horizon. On the opposite horizon to the east, the moon rose up from between the cacti.

The pilots parked the planes on the side of the runway where there are "parking spots" in front of a little Mexican restaurant. Our two planes were later joined by a third, all lined up nice and neatly, a stones throw from the dining area. We literally stepped off the small runway and into the restaurant. The 6 of us enjoyed a great dinner on the patio, reveling in the cool desert air, a full moon shining high above. We swapped lies and laughs and closed the restaurant.

After dinner, we climbed back onboard the planes and set off once again into the night sky. The full moon lit up the barren desert floor and the nearby mountains. As we climbed higher enroute back to 'civilization', the ground beneath us was bejeweled with giant patches of millions of tiny colored lights. We flew at a mere 6500 ft. Part of our journey took us over the aquaduct that feeds the L.A. area. As we approached, the moonlight turned it into a giant silvery snake, hugging and slithering along the foothills, draped in the blanket of the night.

The return flight ended all too quickly, but I'm left with a memory that will last a lifetime.

What the HELLL?!?

2005-07-19T00:34:00.000-07:00

Last Wednesday, July 13th, I had my telescope out and aimed at the Moon. I use it for "public service astronomy", where I set it up in a public place and let any interested passersby take a free look at celestial objects. Around 10:20pm PST, I saw something on the Moon that was so startling and jarring to the senses, I actually said aloud: "WHAT the HELL?!?"

There was a small crowd gathered round, and they all looked quite puzzled at my reaction. Without saying what it was that I'd seen, I asked one of them to take a look and describe what they were seeing. His reaction was very similar to mine. Now the remaining crowd was buzzing with excitement as they waited their turn to look at our newfound discovery.

The Moon was a 1st Quarter moon; a moon only half-lit by the Sun. The line that separates night from day on the Moon is known as the 'terminator'. Very close to that line, sitting in the dark half of the Moon, was a crater that had four glowing objects sitting within its borders. The objects looked like 4 battleships, sitting side-by-side, as seen from high above. Most objects on the Moon are round impact craters, so to see four glowing lines within the pitch black of a crater, and perpindicular to the terminator, was a very shocking sight.

We small band of amateur astronomers were very excited but stumped as to the nature of these previously unseen objects; they hadn't been there 10 minutes before. In spite of their battleship-looking appearance, we all knew that these weren't alien craft hiding in a shadow-filled crater, though we joked about an alien force poised for attack. Okay, we ruled out an alien invasion. So what else could it be? We also knew that it wasn't a secret "alien moonbase". With the conspiracy theories thrown out, we began to try and suss out the true identity of the lunar oddities.

For the objects to be on the dark half of the Moon and still be lit up, that meant that they would have to be taller than their surroundings. If that was the case, then these objects would have to be mesas or plateaus. That theory was quickly shot down because a crater with 4 large mesas inside, pretty near the center of the Moon, would be an obvious feature. None of us were aware of any such mesas on the Moon. We had run out of ideas but still hadn't determined the cause of their sudden appearance.

I broke down the telescope (an 8" diameter Newtonian) and raced home. I quickly set it up again on my balcony and brought out a camera. The 4 mysterious objects were still in plain sight. I snapped off a few images with my 35mm camera. I was using T-MAX 400 B&W film, shooting directly through the telescopes eyepiece. The shutter speed was set at 125th/sec and I bracketed the hell out of the pictures to cover all possibilities. After shooting a half dozen or so images, I took another close look at the crater and its glowing treasures. They had changed. Looking carefully, I saw that the end farthest from the sunlit side of the Moon had widened. I realized that I was seeing the floor of the crater.

In that instant I understood; unbeknownst to us at the time we first saw it, there were tiny unseen gaps in the sunlit side of the crater. These gaps allowed beams of light to splash across the floor of the crater, acting like flood lamps which only lit up a very limited area, creating the battleship-like swaths of light. The "alien attack" had been called on account sunshine.

The image above is a cropped portion of one of the photos I shot that night. I cannot find the mysterious glowing objects in any of the photos. The cropped image is near the same area we saw them, but the objects shown are just rough approximations was what we saw.

Diggin' in the Past

2005-07-18T00:03:00.000-07:00

I'm performing a long-overdue style of cleaning known as throw-out-crap-that-no-longer-has-any-real-meaning. While doing this, I stumbled across a little pocket-sized spiral bound notebook full of old phone numbers and long-since-changed email addresses. But there was a nice piece of history tucked away within its little ruled pages: the set-list of a concert put on by The Who at what was then known as Irvine Meadows, an outdoor venue in Irvine, California. The show took place on my birthday and was a year or two before bassist John Entwistle passed away. The show went like this:

Can't Explain

Substitute

Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere

I Don't Even Know Myself

My Wife

Baba O'Reilly

Bargain

Drowned

Relay

Pinball Wizard

The Real Me

Who Are You?

Magic Bus

Behind Blue Eyes

You Better You Bet

5:15

Won't Get Fooled Again

(show ended at 11:15pm)
----------------------

(encore began 11:20pm)

The Kids Are Alright

Let's See Action

My Generation

(encore ended at 11:45pm)

That was a truly memorable show, and was the last time I was to experience the thundering bass and stoic presence of the incomparable John Entwistle. Thank you for many years of great music John. I feel blessed to have had the pleasure of seeing you perform several times, live in concert. You were one-of-a-kind and your talent is sorely missed.

Beauty, Light, Hatred, Death, Yin, Yang

2005-07-07T23:19:00.000-07:00

I went to bed early last night, after having been serenaded (she performed a set at the Hotel Cafe in Hollywood) by the beautiful, wonderfully talented Kat Parsons. I lay me down to rest with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. I woke up this morning, just a few short hours later, to the hatred, violence and death in the wake of the multiple bombings in London.

It amazes me how a species can give birth to such beauty, art and music, yet is also capable of such deep-rooted hatred, which fosters the acts of terrorism we saw unfolding before us today. We have to have hot and cold, young and old, frail and strong, Yin and Yang; life is an either or proposition. Today I saw both sides rear their heads.

W's Weasel Words

2005-06-20T22:57:00.000-07:00

e went to war because we were attacked..."

Those are the words of George W. Bush defending the reasons for going to Iraq. When did he say this? He uttered those words in his Weekly Radio broadcast this past Saturday, June 18th, 2005. This despite the findings of the 9/11 Commission, released last year.

The 9/11 Commission, (which Bush was against forming, which he refused to sit before without Dick Cheney at his side, where he would not allow himself to be taped), noted "We have no credible evidence that Iraq and al-Qaeda co-operated on attacks against the United States." So why is it, just over a year to-the-day that the report was released, that Bush is still linking Iraq with the tragic attack in New York, Pennsylvania and Washington D.C.?

This is not a mistake on the part of George W. Bush. This is not a faux pas. This is a deliberate misrepresentation of the facts. The radio address, in full context, reads:

"As we work to deliver opportunity at home, we're also keeping you safe from threats from abroad. We went to war because we were attacked, and we are at war today because there are still people out there who want to harm our country and hurt our citizens. Some may disagree with my decision to remove Saddam Hussein from power, but all of us can agree that the world's terrorists have now made Iraq a central front in the war on terror. These foreign terrorists violently oppose the rise of a free and democratic Iraq, because they know that when we replace despair and hatred with liberty and hope, they lose their recruiting grounds for terror."

Notice the careful crafting of the words. Bush mentions how people "disagree with my decision to remove Saddam Hussein from power", yet he never once mentions Afghanistan nor Osama bin Laden, the so-called "master mind" behind the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11th, 2001. If a man named Bob Jones from two blocks away comes into your yard and burns your house to the ground, the police do not send the SWAT team to assault Bob's neighbor, Fred Smith, for something Bob Jones did, then say that it was necessary because you were attacked. That would be ludicrous. Yet, that is essentially what George W. Bush has done in Iraq. And he keeps insisting that we've preemptively attacked Iraq because we were attacked, despite all evidence to the contrary.

Sadly, there are those in this country that will believe it, just because George W. Bush said so, or Dick Cheney said so. You call these believers "sheeple"; they look, walk, talk and act just like people, but they blindly follow their leaders like sheep follow a shepherd, without question.

These sheeple are the same ones who fall for W's Weasel Words and doublespeak, where up-is-down, black-is-white and everyday is Opposites Day. They live in a world where polluting the air is called the "Clear Skies Initiative"; where a tax on the wealthier members of our country is called the "death tax" instead of what it is, a tax on estates; and where the "Healthy Forests" program allows more logging. And these happy-go-lucky sheeple keep voting against their own best interests, 'cause ol' Dubya is a good Christian feller that talks just like them...

The Downing Street Memo Hearing

2005-06-16T18:51:00.000-07:00

epresentative John Conyers (D-MI) held a hearing today on the implications of The Downing Street Memo. The meeting was held in the basement of the Capitol, because the Republicans refused to allow the meeting to be held anywhere else in the Capitol building; they would not allow the Democrats access to any of the regular hearing rooms.

From The Hill.com:
...Sean McLaughlin, deputy chief of staff for James Sensenbrenner, (chairman of the Judiciary Committee) recently wrote to a minority staffer in more pointed language.

"I’m sitting here watching your 'forum' on C-SPAN," McLaughlin wrote. "Just to let you know, it was your last. Don’t bother asking [for a room] again."

Testimony at the hearing today was given by former Ambassador Joe Wilson; WoMD expert Ray McGovern, a 27-year CIA analyst who used to do daily briefings for former President Ronald Reagan; Cindy Sheehan, president of Gold Star Mothers for Peace, who lost her son in Iraq; and John Bonifaz, a Constitutional lawyer out of Boston. The hearing was shown live on C-SPAN 3 today, and will be rebroadcast at 8pm ET on C-SPAN 2 tomorrow, Friday June 17. The reairing can be seen on TV or via streaming video on C-SPAN's website.

As was expected, the MSM (mainstream media) has once again dropped the ball and ignored the story. Instead, it focused on a relatively minor (magnitude 5.2) earthquake in California, where there was no real damage nor loss of life. Predictably, when the Michael Jackson case was resolved, the MSM jumped on the next 'celebrity' story and focused all their attention yesterday on the autopsy report of the unfortunate Terry Schaivo. There are plenty of stories to cover, yet the MSM ignores the important ones. Plenty of news cameras were in attendance today to cover the Conyer's hearing, yet so far, none of the network news outlets have chosen to air the story. I'm not holding my breath, but ABC's Nightline crew was purported to have been present, so they may still air a blurb on the story.

At the conclusion of today's meeting, Rep. Conyers walked over to the White House and hand-delivered a letter, signed by 105 members of Congress and over 540,000 concerned Americans, asking the president to respond to the allegations in the Downing Street Memo. Conyers' previous letter, signed by himself and 88 other members of Congress, went ignored by the White House. So far, no news coverage of this either, with the exception of a small Associated Press piece.

"What a marvelous night for a moondance..."

2005-06-14T00:29:00.000-07:00

f you've never looked through a telescope before, you'd be amazed what you're missing. There is a huge, difference between what you're familiar with, and what there is to be seen. Sure, you've seen numerous images of the Moon in books and on tv or film, but it just isn't the same as when you see it with your own two eyes.

When you look through a telescope, the only thing between you and the object being viewed is just a piece of glass; it is literally a window into the universe. Mountains, craters and the mare (seas) come alive. The best views are when the Moon is anywhere below 7/8ths full. When it is full, it has interesting features, but they seem smooth, as though they are painted on a ball. Looking at the Moon any other time gives depth and dimension to the features; craters let you peer deep into their hearts; mountains leap from the surface; the vast smooth mare are riddled with craters; some of the craters have smaller craters within their mountainous rings.

The images here were taken with a 35mm camera, shooting through the eyepiece of a moderate-sized telescope. In this case, it was an 8-inch Newtonian telescope on a Dobsonian mount. The size refers to the mirror used for light gathering. The eyepiece used offers a wide-field view. The pictures were being shot at very low power, allowing a view of the whole of the Moon. Clicking on these images lets you see a much larger version. Other eyepieces can get you so close that a single crater can fill your entire field of view.

Summer is a great time for astronomy. Contact your local astronomy group and see when they'll be taking their telescopes out for public viewings. The warm weather allows you to be out at night in relative comfort. If you happen to encounter a stranger on a street corner inviting you to look at the Moon or Jupiter through a telescope, take 'em up on their offer. Have a free look at the universe. You'll be pleasantly surprised at what is out there...

News Flash! The Press No Longer Reports the News

2005-06-02T22:38:00.000-07:00

es, you heard me. It seems that folks are tired of waiting for the press to do their job. It would seem that The Fourth Estate (The Press) is no longer free and independent. They are the sniveling lap dogs of the White House and the so-called "Christian Right". The press no longer has the cajones to actually report news. What passes for news today is info-tainment that is more suitable for Access Hollywood than it is for nightly news.

The Fourth Estaters seem to think that we are more interested in what "the runaway bride" had for breakfast or who Tom Cruise is dating, than really important issues like The Downing Street Memo. Now don't get me wrong. The 'runaway bride' story surely affects every single man, woman and child in the country on a daily basis. So that must be the reason that they cover it so thoroughly. That would explain why they don't have the time to cover some really boring, lame story like The Downing Street Memo, which doesn't affect anyone in the least.

Well, Representative John Conyers got tired of waiting for the press and decided to take matters into his own hands. He, and several hundred thousand liberal/progressive Americans who are in the know, want the rest of America to know about The Downing Street Memo. So Mr. Conyers has drafted a letter for anyone to sign, that he will deliver to the White House in person. You can read and sign the letter at Mr. Conyers' webpage.

Okay, so by now you may be asking, "What the HELL is the Downing Street Memo? To put it in a nutshell, the memo contains the minutes to a meeting of British Prime Minister Tony Blair's cabinet, discussing President George W. Bush's plans to invade Iraq. "Okay, go on...". Well, this memo is dated July 2002, 8 months before we invaded. And several months before 'Dubya' sought Congress' approval to go to war.

But wait! There's more! The memo not only lays out Dubya's plans to invade Iraq, it also notes that "the evidence was thin..." and that "the intelligence and the facts were being fixed around the policy". There are several other little goodies in there that would seem to show that President Bush lied not only to Americans, but to the whole world. The problem is this: Over 1,600 members of America's armed forces have been killed, with an additional 15,000+ having been wounded, maimed or crippled for life since the beginning of this war. If that happened based on a set of lies, that could mean impeachment for President Bush, seeing as how that falls under the heading of "High Crimes and Misdemeanors".

If that is the case, why, pray tell, have most Americans not heard about this memo? Why hasn't it received headline coverage in the U.S. press? Wouldn't that be a bigger story than "the runaway bride"? Some people are comparing the Downing Street Memo to the infamous tape recordings of Richard Nixon. You decide. Read the complete, "eyes only" memo directly from the source that first reported it over a month ago: The London Times

To Return To You... Kat Parsons Soars

2005-06-02T00:39:00.000-07:00

here is a phenomena that descends upon Los Angeles every June, blanketing it in musty gray clouds that linger for a month. It is known locally as the June Gloom. Yet even this thick coating of fog was no match for the brilliant shining star known as Kat Parsons.

Kat hit the stage of the Hotel Cafe like a hurricane pounds the Florida coast; you wait with nervous excitement for it to arrive, then you are swept up in the power of the spectacle before you. She is a one-woman powerhouse of entertainment. Her songs are exquisite, funny, heart-wrenching and touching. At times her voice can be soft and delicate like a wayward lamb, then shift gears and turn into a teasing torch-song singer, as well as throwing it into overdrive with a soaring quality that can barely be contained by the venue.

Tonight we were treated to a longer set than her appearance at The Gig last month. It was a stripped-down, bare-bones performance; it was Kat's night to shine in a solo set. There was one exception, when she was joined onstage by fellow singer/songwriter Libbie Schrader. They recently collaborated on two new songs which they played in the middle of the set. As ever, we had the pleasure of soaking up Kat's wit and charm. Unlike many performers, Parsons' onstage persona is the same offstage: she's the real deal.

The performance was a preview of what is to come; Kat Parsons will be in residence at the Hotel Cafe for the month of July, with performances every Wednesday night. It is going to be a good summer for music.

Sidewalk Astronomy - Takin' it to the streets

2005-05-18T23:39:00.000-07:00

onight, for the second time in as many weeks, I took my telescope to the new local bikepath / walkway and set it up for random passersby to have a free look at the Moon, Jupiter and Saturn. I've been a member of the Sidewalk Astronomers for several years now, and this is what we do.

The group was founded by John Dobson back in the late 1960s in San Francisco. Some young friends he had got interested in astronomy were turned away from a local astronomy group because they were "too young" to join, so they founded their own, and "sidewalk astronomy" was born. I met John several years ago at a series of cosmology lectures he was giving. The following year I took his telescope making class. Since then, I've been active on-and-off with the group; mostly off in the last few years.

Then a funny thing happened in March: I received a phone call from the head librarian of the El Sereno Public Library. At their request, I had taken my telescope there years before and set it up for the children to look through. The program director, Mrs. Ali, was now calling me to bring my telescope back. We agreed to a Wed. in April for me to return, from 6 - 8pm. I lugged my telescope equipment out to the car and made the hour-long drive to the library. I had a good time and the children there were very appreciative. In the 2 hours I was there, 40 or 50 people looked through my telescope.

One thing that always seemed an obstacle to children and adults alike was that they all appeared intimidated by my telescope. It is a large, expensive-looking piece of hardware with odd angles and a massive tripod support that was difficult for people to maneuver around. I wanted to do this sort of thing again, so I bought another telescope, identical in size/power, but a much simpler design.

A week later, out of the blue, I received an email asking for volunteers to go to a high school in Lakewood and set up for the students there. They expected 300+ students to attend. I agreed to go, taking my new, lighter, more portable telescope for the 90 minute drive to the school. The telescope saw "first light" the night before from my front yard, where I gave my new neighbor and his son a mini-tour of the sky. They were thrilled. The program at the school went off without a hitch and the different mount/design, (called a "Dobsonian" after John Dobson who came up with this design) made it much more "people friendly".

While at the school, I ran into an old friend who is also a member of the Sidewalk Astronomers. He asked me if I'd help him the following night at a "language school" in downtown Los Angeles. We rode there together in his truck and caught up on old times during our trek. When we arrived, I asked him how he'd found the school. They called him out of the blue 5 years before. It turns out that my friend had graduated from that very school over 40 years before. He goes there 2 or 3 times a year with his telescope and has become an inspiration to the students, since he came to America, not speaking the language, and has gone on to work with NASA.

Since purchasing this new scope, I've made a committment to myself to take it to the Chandler Bikeway in Burbank every Wednesday night during the warmer months. People there are hesitant at first, but next thing I know, I'm surrounded by a small mob of enthusiastic, excited people with lots of questions about the stars and planets. A common occurence is people rushing home to grab their kids and bring them back to have a look. Interestingly, when I used to do this with a friend in front of the local movie mega-plex on the weekends, we often heard the questions: "What's the catch? Why are you doing this? What's in it for you?" The person asking could never understand that someone would do this for free. Out on the Chandler Bikeway, not one person has asked that. They don't even question my presence; they are just grateful for the opportunity I provide. There is none of the cynicism we encountered at the mega-plex, though I do hear: "You do this for free, on your own time? That is so cool! Thank you!"

The bikeway is currently 2 miles long, though it is being expanded. I want to set the telescope up at different residential intersections of the bikeway each week, since I know that not everyone walks the full length of the path. When I first came up with this plan, I was worried about having problems with the police. To minimize any problems, I set up the scope at the quieter intersections and set up off the main path in the common area near rest benches. The police have come by both nights and I haven't had any problems. So far, both times, fun was had by all. And I look forward to setting up my telescope again next Wednesday.

Brit Fries US Senators in Oil

2005-05-18T13:03:00.000-07:00

From the show Hardball

Chris Matthews: "George Galloway is a member of the British Parliament whom Senator Norman Coleman has just accused of improperly benefiting from Saddam Hussein’s Iraq. Your response sir..."

George Galloway:
"Well to be accused of 'lack of moral character' by Senator Norm Coleman (R-MN) is a bit like being told to 'sit up straight' by the Hunchback of Notre Dame..."

This follows Galloway's appearance before members of the Senate yesterday (05/17/05), defending himself against accusations that he profited from the scandal-ridden U.N. Oil-for-Food program. Galloway, a member of the British Parliament, is probably not used to the U.S.'s method of couching their speech. He spoke bluntly, yet eloquently.
You can see an excerpt of his appearance before the Senate, here. And you can see some of Coleman's and Galloway's appearance on Hardball, here.

Here is a key part of the transcript of Galloway's closing statement before the Senate Select Committee:

"Now, Senator, I gave my heart and soul to oppose the policy that you promoted. I gave my political life's blood to try to stop the mass killing of Iraqis by the sanctions on Iraq which killed one million Iraqis, most of them children, most of them died before they even knew that they were Iraqis, but they died for no other reason other than that they were Iraqis with the misfortune to born at that time. I gave my heart and soul to stop you committing the disaster that you did commit in invading Iraq. And I told the world that your case for the war was a pack of lies.

"I told the world that Iraq, contrary to your claims did not have weapons of mass destruction. I told the world, contrary to your claims, that Iraq had no connection to al-Qaeda. I told the world, contrary to your claims, that Iraq had no connection to the atrocity on 9/11 2001. I told the world, contrary to your claims, that the Iraqi people would resist a British and American invasion of their country and that the fall of Baghdad would not be the beginning of the end, but merely the end of the beginning.

"Senator, in everything I said about Iraq, I turned out to be right and you turned out to be wrong and 100,000 people paid with their lives; 1600 of them American soldiers sent to their deaths on a pack of lies; 15,000 of them wounded, many of them disabled forever on a pack of lies.

If the world had listened to Kofi Annan, whose dismissal you demanded, if the world had listened to President Chirac who you want to paint as some kind of corrupt traitor, if the world had listened to me and the anti-war movement in Britain, we would not be in the disaster that we are in today. Senator, this is the mother of all smokescreens. You are trying to divert attention from the crimes that you supported, from the theft of billions of dollars of Iraq's wealth.

"Have a look at the real Oil-for-Food scandal. Have a look at the 14 months you were in charge of Baghdad, the first 14 months when $8.8 billion of Iraq's wealth went missing on your watch. Have a look at Haliburton and other American corporations that stole not only Iraq's money, but the money of the American taxpayer.

"Have a look at the oil that you didn't even meter, that you were shipping out of the country and selling, the proceeds of which went who knows where? Have a look at the $800 million you gave to American military commanders to hand out around the country without even counting it or weighing it.

"Have a look at the real scandal breaking in the newspapers today, revealed in the earlier testimony in this committee. That the biggest sanctions busters were not me or Russian politicians or French politicians. The real sanctions busters were your own companies with the connivance of your own Government."

The full transcript of Galloway's appearance before the Senate Select Committe can be found on the Times of London website.

"So Go Find Her..." L.A. Music Scene

2005-05-18T08:51:00.000-07:00

There are those who would deride Los Angeles, claiming that it lacks culture. I say that they don't know where to look. The music scene is flourishing here, as evidenced by the experiences we had last night.

We began the evening at The Gig on Melrose with a performance by indie queen, Kat Parsons. It was another of her astounding shows. She was the opening act for Music Connection Magazine's Showcase Night, and was well received by the crowd of her loyal fans and the music industry insiders in attendance.

Kat had just finished a triumphant Release Party Tour promoting her CD No Will Power. She often does solo gigs, but last night she was accompanied by a full band, including talented cellist (and veteran actor) Dermot Mulroney. Kat is a multi-talented musician who is as adept at guitar as she is on keyboards. She opened her set standing behind the mic with the bright, upbeat title cut No Will Power and then took over keyboard duty. Through out the set she alternated between keyboard and guitar, with the band in full compliment. One exception was her sultry a cappella cover of Someone To Watch Over Me.

Her set included, among others, the soul-searing Go Find Her and the monumental U2-esque To Return To You. Unfortunately, it was a "showcase" night, only affording Kat a short set to show off her musical talents, which are many. She has an astounding vocal range that is equally suited to pop-driven melodies, torch songs and powerful ballads. Her sets are infused with her wit, charm and quirky, often comedic intros to her songs; she has a great rapport with her audience. Kat is a real talent that you should check out when she comes to a club near you. See her website for upcoming dates.

We left there and drove across town to one of our favorite eateries, Amalfi Ristorante. We went there with the plan of having a late dinner (9pm) from their incredible menu of Italian cuisine. When we walked in the door, we bumped into the beautiful, talented Sally Jaye of Paper-Sun, who proceeded to quickly lead us upstairs to the Room 5 Lounge where she promptly put us on her guest list. We grabbed a table in the darkened lounge, ordering off the menu by candle light. By the time we arrived, Emile Milar had already taken the stage and was filling the crowded room with his songs. Every night is different and one never knows what they'll find at Room 5. Emile and his band were quite good and a great musical appetizer for what was to come.

Dinner arrived, and with it, the next band. For my dining pleasure I chose the delicious Pesto e Pollo pizza from Amalfi's kitchen. For our aural pleasure, we were fortunate enough to be treated to the music of C. Duck and Nate. They were a 3-piece band featuring C. Duck Anderson and Nate Richert, accompanied by the lanky, stoic, and barefoot (while onstage) Michael Starr on fiddle. Their set started with C. Duck on guitar and handling lead vocals, while Nate played banjo and took care of the backing vocals. Throughout their set, C. Duck and Nate would take turns playing banjo and taking lead vocal duties. C. Duck has a voice that is eerily reminiscient of Lyle Lovett. Nate, for his part has a weary-sounding voice, like a lonesome wind that has been drifting across the plains since the beginning of time, picking up wisdom and stories along the way. Their voices and harmonies are perfectly suited to their music.

Their style of music would equally fit in with the talented musicians found on the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack, yet some of their songs sounded like something you'd expect from the Civil War era. It was a great set of music, and not something I expected to hear at Room 5.

The last set of the evening was Sally Jaye's (remember her from 3 paragraph's up?) new band, the name of which I never caught. All I can say is WOW! Sally has an angelic voice, which was beautifully backed by the haunting voice of Irish chanteuse Naimee Coleman. Unfortunately, Sally & Co. hit the stage after 11pm and some in our group had to be up at 4am, so we only stayed for the first 3 songs. Sally Jaye is a frequent performer at Room 5, so I know we'll be seeing her again. One of the things I truly enjoy about Room 5 is that many of the musicians there know one another, and often sit in with their friends on stage. From what I've experienced, no one has an ego problem; everyone is willing to take a back seat to their friends and help them out with their gigs. It is a great music scene for up n' coming performers. All-in-all, last night was a great night of music, food and the company of good friends.

Ground control to Major Tom

2005-05-16T19:20:00.000-07:00

An otherwise dreary-looking day was brightened by two events:
1) Seeing a decent movie ("Unleashed" with Jet Li)
and
2) The odd, dramatic sight of several old bombers rumbling through the skies overhead. They were part of an airshow held over the weekend, and they are most likely returning home.

The local air traffic at this time of day is usually heavy, with jets pouring out of the airport once every 4 or 5 minutes. Today, though, the appearance of the bombers seems to have shut down air traffic as they flew out of town. They stayed relatively low to the ground (compared to the passenger jets), causing the air to vibrate with a heavy bass sound from their 4 prop engines. They flew out individually, with some of their overhead passes triggering car alarms. It was a pretty astounding sight.

Today's paper noted that there were both B-17s and B-25s at the airshow. I saw both of these pieces of history sail past. The B-17 was a beautiful site with its 4 prop engines, and the twin tail rudder of the B-25 was a dead giveaway as to its identity. Just a spectacular sight; big, thundering, airborne toys for boys.

2005-05-16T01:24:00.000-07:00

From out of the ether, from non-existence, existence.