Strand

Sea Shells by the Sea Shore

2012-05-09T23:54:07Z

All things being equal, I'd rather be outside--unless there's snow, I've not yet been able to overcome my aversion to cold. But if it's not cold, and I could be anywhere outside, I'd pick the ocean every single time. My parents used to take us to California every few summers to go to Disneyland and/or Sea World and during those weeks we always had a day at the beach. Those were the golden moments of my youth, although you wouldn't know it from the early 8mm movies. The last time I remember visiting the beach with my parents I was almost 16. I remember that day very well. I spent an hour or so standing chest-deep in the troughs of the waves and bobbing up over the top out beyond the breakers. The wave would lift me up off the sand and set me back down, over and over. Near where I was a girl almost my age in a white bikini was doing the same thing. It seems strange to me now that I didn't try to strike up a conversation, or even really make eye contact, knowing more with hindsight what 16-year-old kids are supposed to be like.

I don't think I saw the ocean again until I was 23 or so. That year I kind of got fed up with everything and just took off by myself and eventually ended up in Eureka, California. I sat on the beach and watched the sun set. Corny as it sounds, it's almost as if I could feel the waves unwinding all the knots that were in me. I just sat for a couple hours and watched the waves crash. That was the start of my beachside therapy. Whenever things got bad I'd pick up and run to the beach by myself for a couple days. I went up the coast to Oregon a couple times, just to see new beaches. Frequently I'd be gone four or five days without having a conversation that didn't include somone counting back change or asking if I would like fries with my order. Mostly, as it was when I was 16, I didn't mind.

Now that I'm married I've found out not everyone likes the beach. I think I'm winning Debbie over, but I don't think she will ever see what I do in the ocean. She seemed to get a bit of a kick today watching me scramble in the knee-deep surf, grabbing shells and rocks and trying to stay reasonably dry. I didn't fully succeed. There is something else I realized today that changed. When I was a kid I spent a lot of time and energy trying to find perfect shells. I'd toss out most of the ones that were broken, or had worn down in the surf. My goal was to find matching halves and keep them together, although I rarely succeeded. I hadn't realized until today that when I find a whole shell, unless it's really interesting I usually toss it up on the drier sand for someone else. (Uninteresting finds go back into the surf.) There's something about the shell fragments that I now find really intreguing. I can wax all sorts of philosophical at times and come up with reasons why I'm interested in the little broken things in life, but boiled-down right now in the hotel, after a day at the beach, I think that things just don't have to be whole and perfect to be beautiful. And finding the beauty in things that are fragmented gives a whole lot more to think about in the long run.

End of the Semester

2012-04-25T23:05:29Z

Tonight was glaze night for the class with which I've been helping for the winter term. Not many showed up, which seemed like par for the course-it was a strange class. I glazed 10 smallish bowls I had thrown, intending some for the Empty Bowls charity fundraiser coming up. I tossed out 6 with nasty s-cracks in the bottom. That's a lot, but maybe I rushed them to dry. John was getting a kiln ready to fire and without many people asking questions we went outside where I watched him finish the kiln load. I've been hanging around that kiln shed for the better part of 16 years or so. While John finagled the shelf space, wondering out loud how tightly he should pack it to make sure he had enough of what was still coming down the line for the last few classes, I sat and thought about the friends I had made and how many had come and gone since I came on the scene. John talked about some that had come and gone before me, but who I knew from studio lore. We talked about gardening and cameras, the quality of students and the little things about the studio. It was just one of those slow, pleasant evenings. John thanked me again for coming out and helping for so long. I realized that even when the students are more difficult helping out there is kind of a break for me. I don't have to worry whether or not I'm getting the things done around the house that need doing, or really worrying about any of my own problems, but I'm there answering questions and hanging out with my friends. My family, really, as John and Diane have become more than just friends. They've given me so much in support and advice that I can't possibly ever repay. I made a little joke about not being able to make stuff again until fall and John asked me to come back over the summer. The short semester starts mid-June and only runs 8 weeks or so, but I think I'll try to get back.

Dustin showed up and we talked music and John smoked his pipe while the kiln pre-heated. One of the advanced students I don't know came out and asked a question. A bit later she came back and asked another. I gave her some advice and it occurred to me that I actually do know quite a bit about general ceramic knowledge that I can use to help people. I often forget that I know, and still think of myself as sort of a newb. I've heard the quote several times from Malcom Gladwell that it takes 10,000 hours or 10 years of repetition to become an expert at anything, although I haven't yet read his book. Maybe I'm getting close to that, although I wouldn't claim to be an expert just yet. I do surprise myself sometimes. Sam Wilson, my drawing professor at the U for the foundation class said something that stuck with me. Maybe I've written this before, but it bears repeating. He said you start off in art ripping other people off, because it's all you can do. He said the secret was to keep ripping people off long enough until you have a body of work and can start ripping yourself off. It was sort of the tongue-in-cheek humor that he seemed to like best, but it did have a point. Lately I've been thinking about my early stuff when I was trying hard to be an artist. Maybe there's something there I should revisit.

I suppose I'll go out Saturday morning and see how my bowls turned out, have a last Saturday afternoon lunch with Jack and maybe Chuck for a few weeks until the summer semester starts. Maybe by then I'll think of something I can rip off from my early work.

Throw it out?

2012-03-19T21:50:57Z

I think most of us realize we live in a society where you use it up and throw it away. I have a perfectly functional iPhone 3 sitting on my desk beside me that never quite gets its batteries charged. My new (1 year old) iPhone 4 probably doesn't get the fullest of uses as it is. I probably should have sold the 3, or given it to someone who could use it, but I'm comfortably behind the curve. As my wife could get her a 3gs that would outperform my 3 for $50, and have an OS that could be kept up to date, I opted to leave it behind as a toy for jogging music or gaming. In reality it just sits looking forlorn from the corner of my desk. I might still be using it, but the calendaring functionality for work was going to leave me behind unless I upgraded.

I didn't grow up during the depression, but my parents were raised in the aftermath and learned frugality. I guess they passed it on to me, although I don't remember it being emphasized as a core value. I remember tuna fish being too expensive to have every day, it being a favorite meal of mine. I also remember playing a game I made up where I collected the trickle of water from a hose that ran to the floor drain in the basement from the humidifier when the furnace kicked on. I'd save it in old jars (that were too good to throw away) that smelled faintly of pickles and jam, despite the thorough washing. I never got too far, as my mom would eventually find the stash and dump it all out, but it didn't keep me from running to the basement whenever I noticed the heat coming on.

Which brings me to Saturday night and my weekly laundry chore. Sometime in the final load the motor gave out so the spin cycle wouldn't go. The washer isn't too old, slightly pre-dating my marriage of 5 years. With thoughts of the heaping of troubles and technical breakdowns, I sadly proceeded to bed with the sodden load heaped in the machine. I returned to the problem this morning. I've fixed washers and dryers before, and it's usually not something too difficult to troubleshoot. I took off the control panel exposing the electronics and scored the hidden technical sheet. It was only the spin cycle that was failing, so in my mind it had to be a belt or a motor. Pulling off the front of the machine I realized that with the belt intact, the technical advances in washing technology had rendered me impotent in the machine-fixing adventure for today. The spec sheet talked about the transmission and the motor. I broke down and called a couple appliance repair shops and finally found an acceptable deal of a free in-home estimate available in the same day.

The technician was a nice guy and managed to come a couple hours early. I had put everything back in order, so as to not alert him to my monkeying (although it did get that corner of the basement a much-needed cleaning). He quickly opened it up and diagnosed it as the motor. He called for a quote and said there was one available, but that it would be about $370 with the labor. I was somewhat sticker shocked and knew that it was somewhat over half of what I paid for it new. Now I know I'm partially to blame, as in my efforts to finish the laundry and get to bed I often push the load a little heavy, which must have contributed to it's early demise. I don't know what I would have been able to save if I had been able to comfortably diagnose the problem and get a motor, but I don't suppose the labor was too unreasonable. The price was right at the point where I was almost ready to just get a new one, but the frugality kicked in enough that I just had the work done.

It does really kind of chap my hide, built-in planned obsolescence. It's hard to fathom the number of things this year that, through mechanical breakdown or technological eclipsing, we have needed to buy anew. The printer we had for just a couple years had its power supply die, and since it cost less than a day's wages to get a better one, we did. Three of the four ballasts in the lights in the garage with less than two hundred hours usage over the last couple years died in December. My current truck has needed far more in repairs in half the time of my last one, prompting me to wonder if I shouldn't trade it in frequently. The new tv didn't have enough older connections, so we bought a blu-ray player, because it was cheap and did a better job. I know this smacks a lot of First World Problems, and it's true, but it about kills me every time I take something functional (or nearly so) and toss it aside. It's especially painful because I see people who do it more than me without seeming to have a second thought. I'm in a border-line hoarder position, as I'm a tinkerer, and think things like: "The motor and gear system in the scanner on the printer could be really good for some art or automation project!" This has caused me to have a basement full of things that,"just might be good for something".

Debbie has a couple tables that belonged to previous generations in her family. My own grandmother gave me a chair that used to belong to Mrs. Bliss, one of her friends, and I'm hoping to have it reupholstered sometime soon. But I can't really see that I own anything (besides a few pieces of art) that would really be something to be left to a future generation that would be less than ephemeral. My desk is recovered cubicle equipment, my tools cheap Chinese steel and plastic, and now even the books are now largely going to ones and zeroes. Maybe I'm just nostalgic for a time that was never mine, or maybe my frugality has gotten the better of me and I don't acquire heirloom things. I just find the whole concept a bit sad and empty.

Easter Resolutions?

2012-03-07T00:12:04Z

I've really been putting off writing this (and any) post for quite awhile. Not that I don't want to face the dismal result of last years resolutions as much as I just haven't been able to find the gumption to write at all. Also, this was an entry that needed to be done, but has no fire.

But here we are.

Last year I put down 5 resolutions, and evaluated the resolutions for the previous year, so that looks like how this is going to go from now on. So for last year:

Climb Lone Peak. This again. It was on my 2010 list and was the only carry-over as it has been since I was about 16. I really meant to do it, but because I failed on #3 below I wasn't physically up to it, but was scheduled to make the attempt anyway with Steve from work. The day before we were to leave Chuck called and said he had a day to come help me drywall the garage. Getting the garage done trumped the hike, so I bailed, although to Steve's credit, he got Walter from work and they made it to the peak, putting me to shame. Grade F.
Take the Kayak out 5 times. I had all sorts of good intentions with this. On my first attempt I drove up to Birch Creek Res. by myself and got the kayak out and realized I'd forgotten the paddle somehow. I was beside myself with frustration, but managed to catch one of the biggest tiger trouts I've ever landed from the shore. It was exciting, but not what I had hoped for. At the end of the summer I did manage to get out with Brian, his son Alex, and his brother-in-law, Jason Rino for an epic day of fishing. And this time I remembered my paddle. Grade should be a D, but due to the epic day and a botched attempt-- C-
Running. I had a goal of 300 miles, which seemed reasonable due to the success I had the previous summer, but I managed to get out twice for a total of about 4.5 miles. Grade F
Replace the floors in the ol' house. Financially, we never got in a position where this was going to happen as we spent more time and resources on the garage and having fun. Maybe this year, but another F.
Writing... well, lets just jump to the F

So, not so good. Best laid plans of mice, etc. But overall it wasn't a bad year. Debbie invested us in some Disney season passes and we went a couple times and again for our anniversary just after the start of the year. I also worked on finishing the garage, a 5 year project that I had on my 2010 resolutions to finish. I'm happy to say that project is almost behind me. I spent quite a bit of money and effort, but last Tuesday it passed its final inspection. I thought I'd be more relieved at that, but there's still the taping, mudding and painting to do, as well as stain and finish the concrete and arrange the space. But the expensive and stressful part is behind.

I also put a lot of time into my art. I spent the first half of the Fall semester feverishly working to get enough ware together for the CAU Holiday Sale and did that again. Again, I didn't sell much, but I got a lot of really good feedback from people. I also got a call from the Patrick Moore Gallery asking for me to bring in some stuff to show over the holidays, so I have a few pieces there now, too. But at the CAU sale I was next to Johnny Hughes, one of my friends from when I started at Stoker. He really encouraged me to apply to the St. George Arts Festival and told me I'd do much better there. Despite my disinclination to face the public I did manage to apply, and was accepted. I've been spending a crazy amount of time getting ready for that and have less than a month until it happens. So between those two and beefing up a pretty decent garden last year I brought 2010's resolutions up by 50%. Maybe I'm just lagging a year.

As for this years resolutions, I've not put much thought into that, but I've had some ideas of what I'd like to accomplish, so lets see if we can't lay something out.

Exercise or physical fitness. This is a gimme, but I need to get out of my sedentary ways. I'm not going to lay it down with a total of 300 miles running, or climbing Lone Peak or anything, but I need to make a concerted effort to get out every week somehow and create a routine of activity that I can look back on and say I made a positive lifestyle change. This will be the hard one.
Art. Ok, so I've gotten out there (or will have next month) more than before. I think I've honed my skills and eye to where I have some competency with process and some materials, but I think the artist side needs developing. Hopefully having the studio will give me a chance to explore better than I have with the limited time at Stoker. I still plan on spending time out there, but I want to be able to poke around in my studio and focus on developing my style.
I need to decrease my cynicism. This seems a little odd, but I've noticed I've become more of a grumpy old dude than I want to be. I'm not sure how I'm going to quantify this one, but I need to lay off reading so much bad news and find a way to increase my positive outlook.
Fix up the house. I'm going to carry this one over, and I think it's really doable this year. The money is tight, but we really need to get the floors redone, and I think I'm going to feel a lot better with a more maintainable house. This is going to include de-junking, which I've already started. I'm getting rid of things I really don't need or use and that takes up space. I'd also like to get on the way of redoing the kitchen and looking into expanding the basement (although I think the basement is going to be a year or more down the road).
Read more books. I've spent too much time just killing time online when I could have been cutting down my reading list. I have several half-read books that I was really enjoying and never quite finished, as well as a lot sitting around I haven't started yet. I think I used to be more mentally active when I was reading more and I think I had more creativity when I was feeding my brain more than just the top 10 things that something something.

So there's what I've been thinking of the last couple months put down in black and white, or at least light and dark. Maybe doing this in the spring will make me think I've already spent a good part of the year and give me some drive to come from behind.

Day in, day out

2012-01-30T00:58:44Z

I bet someday the sun won't get up until noon, and it will be all, "Sorry-Sorry, it won't happen again!" and "I was just a little under the weather." But we'll know it was out all night in some dive just feeling sorry for itself and telling the bartender, "I could have been a star."

There's a lesson in that for all of us-- Change jobs more often.

Surfing Reblog

2011-12-28T07:17:37Z

I saw this video on the Le Container blog, a nice minimalist picture blog that, despite it's penchant for bicycles, has a lot of inspirational creative muse for me. This big-wave surfing video posted today really struck me and I don't want to lose it, so I'm reblogging it, which I don't do often.

shipsterns from Dave otto on Vimeo.

I also realized tonight that I'm suppressing the writing urge again. When I get those ideas I've just been pushing them down real far until someone else finds them, or something. I had a goal for not doing that so much this year, as I'll eventually write about when the year ends.

Kayak Fishin

2011-09-22T04:32:06Z

So I finally managed to get the ol' kayak dusted off and actually in the water after the last trip's paddle-less fiasco. Brian invited me out to fish Utah Lake with his son and his Brother-in-law Jason that used to work with us at the U.

I ran out to get some equipment I had been lacking, primarily a hand net, but Brian had also suggested that I get a basket to hold the catch. I found both at a reasonable price and picked up a couple lures as well.

I tried to prep as well as I could last night tying the home-made kayak rack into the truck but somehow neglecting to buy gas, or get cash for the trip. As I ran around this morning in the dark trying to get these errands done I stopped at McDonald's for a quick breakfast. While my paranoia required a third checking of the rigging securing the kayak to the truck I watched a guy browse DVD's at the Redbox out front. I briefly wondered what kind day you have lying ahead of you when you're renting movies before sunup. Perhaps he just likes to plan his evenings well in advance.

I managed to roll into the Provo Harbor marina right about sunup after a missed exit due to construction and a quick trip back up to a near gas station to break a $20 to pay the State Park fee at the unmanned entrance. Brian and Jason were just getting Brian's little aluminum boat and Jason's float tube into the water. I quickly joined them excited to get out on the water. In my haste I dropped a can of Pepsi that exploded on the pavement, showering me and my truck with a sticky mist before I managed to kick it safely towards the laughing Jason.

I showed Brian my net and basket and he recommended I borrow his basket because his opinion of the one I got was that it was too small and I should return it and get the bigger one. Since I hadn't got as far as rigging mine up I figured I'd give it a shot.

Brian got going and towed Jason out beyond the jetty to the open lake where we were fishing. I had declined the tow because I wanted to get a little more experience paddling around. I soon began to question the sanity of this as I was sure to get more paddling in than I probably bargained for in getting around the fishing spot. I made a couple adjustments to the (also home-made) outrigger to keep it more square to the kayak. It either needs a better, permanent mount on the kayak itself, or another brace to keep it from rotating towards the rear as it drags. I tied a bight of the anchor (also also home made) rope from the outrigger to a bracket on the side near the cockpit and that did the trick for now.

Once we were just out past the marina jetty near where the Provo River empties into the lake we started to fish. There were seagulls a-plenty around diving and catching small fish. I had bungled my line setup back on shore and while I was correcting the pole setup I heard Brian's son over the radio announce he had caught his first fish. Jason quickly responded with another success, and once I got my line in I had one on within a few casts. Then we were all in the thick of it catching White Bass almost as fast as we could. I was limited by the fact that my net, which I had bought for scale-friendiness, was not in the least hook friendly. The first bass had buried his mouth and all three treble hooks into the net and got so tangled I had a tough time getting him free. When I did finally loose the fish from the hook he got a little more liberty than I had intended and disappeared back into the green water, leaving me to struggle with the remaining two barbs imbedded in the net. After that I took precautions in netting all but the head of the fish as best as I could to prevent further cursing.

In a short time I think I had more fish than I had ever caught in one trip. The lure I had been using was getting a bit chewed up and was missing most of the fluffy dressing it had, so I started throwing on lures I'd never used, or had no previous success to just give them a shot. It turns out that these fish would take about anything. I was having a bit of trouble getting them in the basket. Brian had told me that with the floating lid I could pick it up with the fish in the same hand and drop it in one handed. I had very little success at this, but it became sort of a game of roulette for one last chance at escape for the fish. One poor guy managed to leap out of my hand before falling in the basket, hit the kayak flipped off and into the water, but was scooped up by the basket right before the getaway. I started tossing back almost every one I caught unless they were particularly fat. There's not a lot of eating on White Bass anyway, and I didn't know how many I could reasonably eat. Secretly I was hoping I could sneak them into Brian's load.

I actually got a little tired around the 40th catch or so and decided to head over to the weed beds to see if I could get something different. I tried a couple different lures hoping to find a crappie or bluegill, but with no luck. I dug into my tackle box and found a larger lure I hadn't tried before. I flipped it out near the weeds to the left and brought it in and then flipped it over the other side. It had hardly hit the water when something took it suddenly pretty hard. I thought I had another bass, but as it got near to the boat it almost scared me. I'd never landed such an ugly fish before, and I've caught Arctic Grayling.

I ended up paddling over to where Brian and his son were landing crappie and hauled the basket out because my description over the radio wasn't giving enough detail to identify it for me. It turns out it was a Walleye. I had hooked one before and got it close to shore several years ago with my brother, but it got off before I could land it. I don't remember it being this scary, though.

Not long after we decided it was about time to get off the lake. I humbled myself and asked if Brian would tow me in because I was dog tired. He took me over and we picked up Jason who was still back where we were with the Bass earlier. It must have been quite a sight to see this tiny aluminum boat with a diminutive outboard towing a tube towing a 16' kayak. I had given my basket of fish to Brian because dragging it was causing some trouble. Brian had three strings of fish in the bottom of the boat, and when we picked up Jason he wasn't able to lift Jason's basket out of the water it was so full. I think he'd kept about 60 lbs or more of the Bass.

We got everything packed up and ready to go and Brian and Jason decided the best option would be to filet the fish before heading out, as the total amount of cooler space was greatly exceeded by the whole fish. Brian had two electric filet knives, and even working in shifts it took more than two hours to filet the whole catch. Arms began to cramp and we began to develop that 1000 yard stare that comes with an overload of carnage. It became all we could do to not break out laughing when thinking of the situation we got ourselves into. I was very glad I had restrained myself earlier and not been tempted with the no-limit on the White Bass.

I did decide to keep that smaller basket.

P.S.

Brian wrote the trip up on his blog http://hnaf.blogspot.com/2011/09/september-21st-white-bass-action-provo.html where I yoinked a picture of us being towed back in.

Nightmares

2011-08-25T04:26:38Z

I've had this dream before, or one just like it. And I've had several this month. They're interchangeable, so it doesn't really matter. nothing I can do matters. I can't save the people with me, but really they're all me, and I get to play all their parts, and one of their demises, my demises, sets up the way I win in the end, and I can remember how it ends, I just can't ever get to the ending. So I die and die and die. And one by one there are fewer people in the dream. And I cut, and shoot, and smash the villain and I feel all the damage as if it's done to me, so I guess I'm him too, and maybe that's why I can't die, but I do, just the good parts of me die. One by one. So I run away, but no matter how I try to lose him, and I even get lost myself in all the random turns, I end up always running right towards him. And he always smiles before he kills me.

Tonight I had him. I'd fooled him good and come back towards him running up towards the canoe loaded with the ill-gotten treasure that he'd killed so many for. And I shot an amazing shot with the rifle I'd found in the crawlspace between the flumes that I had dropped when I'd been killed. The shot went true and I heard it plink through the ceramic mask he was wearing in the boat. But as I got around to the side of the kayak I saw it was his son in front, and not him, and I remembered that killing his son makes him mad. He got out the scissors, and I hate the scissors, so I run.

The sets on this one were great, a small island with victorian amenities and mechanics, lots of mechanics. Water flumes and lifts, cannons, silver scissors and blunderbusses. Treasure that one character dies trying to collect, but he... I... explain to me that it's not even valuable, just really neat, right before I get a bullet in the head and the collector dies in front of me in his delay to look at the vintage glass labels eroding in the perpetual, ankle deep torrent. I run from the body still feeling the heat of the blood and bullets splash around me.

The villain's henchmen can die, and they're not me, but they don't die easy and they are endless so I have to slog through that, too. I can even wake up, I just did. But if I don't stay up they're right there below the pillow waiting for me to return, so I don't go back until I can't help it.

Time Keeps on Slippin'

2011-07-06T04:58:22Z

I made some resolutions near the start of the year, and I've been thinking about them some as half the year is gone. There's still too much snow on Lone Peak to have ventured up there yet, and with the late spring (and more than a little laziness) I don't know if I'm going to make my running goal. But the one I've been thinking about most this week is my failure so far to increase my writing output. I think a lot of things, but unless they really grab me by the throat and demand to be born, I find it really easy to just push them to the back of my mind where they whither in the dark.

I spent the evening putting up drywall in the garage (at least that resolution is moving along) and came in the house just after sunset, dirty, tired and thirsty. I decided in the absence of an open smoothie shop to just run to the store for something tasty. On the way back I was ambushed by one of those thoughts. It was well into twilight and the streets were dark, but the sky was still shining with that last glimmer of daylight. The air was cool and I drove with the windows down. I just wanted to keep driving aimlessly. There was a little lightning in the distance and it was just one of those nights, the promise of which can get me through a winter. And I remembered countless nights like it, driving alone or with friends. Hanging out and drinking sodas on the trunk of a car and watching the stars come out. All these gilded memories were from so long ago, none of them recent. And I wondered, is it because I was so young that those first experiences were seen with new eyes and had no better memory with which to compare? Is it that I am too shackled to the reality I've molded about myself to actually just cast free and explore and enjoy at the spur of a moment? Or is it that I'm now experienced, and driving aimlessly is not the adventure it once was, and any attempt to replicate the past will only prove a sad counterfeit?

I used to live for summer, especially summer nights, and the rest of the year was torture waiting to get to that point where I could feel like living was actually worth something. And then the years started flying by, and I found that I didn't get what I used to out of the brief season of warmth. At first I thought it was, perhaps, that I finally grew up and spent my summers behind the desk my dad used to tease me about, but the more I think about it the more I'm inclined to say that it is a lack of new. It's so easy to fall into a routine and to accept that every day is going to be much like the last. To fall back into the security of day-to-day duties that eat up the months without much growth. But I think I need to start pushing a boundary here and there. It's not enough to just trade idle downtime for task completion. I am happy things are getting done, but it's time to start living again, as difficult and scary as that may be. Driving aimlessly filled a purpose once, and the memories of those golden times could be fuel enough to get me moving again.

Still

2011-06-09T05:25:14Z

Roughly seven months ago I sat on a Jackson Square curb on a warm late-autumn day in New Orleans. I was killing time before my flight home and it was just one of those moments that was perfect. It struck me that I have those often, and my heart sank as I realized that it was likely that in a few weeks time that memory would be lost with most of it's predecessors. Ironically, that melancholy thought stuck with me, and gave me an anchor to that sunny morning. I only mention this as I was just sitting out in the cool dark of my front porch at 11:30 at night listening to it rain. It was another of those times where, for once, everything about me was still. I could smell the irises, mingling with the smells of the rain and earth. The clouds spread out featurelessly, reflecting the city lights. I thought back to this afternoon's lunch at The Point up on the hill and how I looked down over the city and realized again how small downtown really is. I noticed the grass could use cutting again already and that I ought to make sure the violets get watered more often, because they look so good against the rocks. It struck me as odd that the trees have leafed out so quickly, and yet it doesn't seem as surreal as it feels it should after so long looking at them bare. Maybe because this is the way it's supposed to be. Stan the cat ran up to me as he does whenever he discovers I'm outside. He hadn't bothered to stay out of the rain. He never does. He never worries how uncomfortable it is to have a cat sharing his damp, shedding coat as he insistently crawls across your lap. And it struck me that maybe this is something I'm missing. Maybe I'm only to the point where I can enjoy the rain.

Shinyfly

2011-04-26T04:26:51Z

So a couple months ago I had this idea of putting together a video using the Haysi Fantayzee song "Shiny Shiny" with video from Joss Whedon's "Firefly". It was one of those ideas that seem to grab me like a chew toy and shake-shake-shake. Often I get away with just pushing them to the background long enough that they go away, but I actually started in on this one as I had the tools (for once) to do it a little more than half-assed. Actually, the titles are somewhat half-assed, but as anyone who has had the misfortune to be around me lately knows that about 40 hours into this project I was wondering what I was doing and longing to ditch it for the next shiny thing.

ah, I've been saying "shiny" a lot these days, sorry...

My apologies go out to Debbie, who's seen and heard this almost as many times as me, and a thanks to everyone (including Debbie) who's been patient with my constant need for feedback as to if I was being too literal, or character-centric or whatever. It actually was quite fun to do, and I wonder what would have happened if I'd have stuck with a film major. On the maddening side, it was one of those things I could have refined over and over again until the end of time, but I finally told myself that I hadda finish it and just let it be what it is.

I did end up thinking back a lot while I was doing this to my video editing class I took at the "U" from Kent Maxwell. Maybe I did actually learn something in all the years I've been on campus after all. But I'm not sure how useful it was, outside of entertaining/punishing me for the last few weeks.

Shinyfly video on YouTube

Numbers

2011-04-16T16:45:04Z

"Three is very good, a very good number. Resilient. Almost impervious!"
"Five is good too, but so common and worn."
He took a sip of the iced tea, a Morse ring of condensation left on the table in drips and dashes.
"Eight is nice... the whole Fibonacci series is very nice. Not like those powers of two, so soulless and bulky." slowly shaking his head and gesturing to the skyscrapers on either side of the tiny garden, "like these."
"Compound interest."
"Going places..."
The quiet settled again and the birds overtook the traffic.
"Not to say that two isn't a good number. He had humble beginnings. Fibonacci, you know."
"11 is good."
"Primes are good..."
"but lonely."

(not quite) A Browncoat

2011-04-14T06:57:00Z

While wandering around my web neighborhoods this morning, I ran across a list on io9.com about 10 ways of looking at firefly. I think the X things about is kind of a weak premise to begin with and there seemingly no limits to which this device is used on the web. To me it seems a little bit of a slap-dash (to borrow an apt description from my boss) way of throwing together an article with as little effort as is possible, but I must admit that at times I do get sucked into them. After all, who doesn't want to compare their own ideas with someone who is going to lay down a delineated list? In most cases the list seems to be the limit of the consideration given to the topics and no further attempt is made at analysis. Cracked seems to be one of the better exceptions to this rule as their webiste seem to subsist on these lists, only with more depth. (I got sucked into the memes that went viral before the internet list as I was verifying the url)

The Io9 article seems to be a prime example of what I dislike about list articles, it's brief and superficial and doesn't do justice to a great show. I do have to confess, at times I spend an inordinate amount of cycles contemplating Firefly, but I'm not what I'd consider a "Browncoat". I've found myself immersed in a learning project lately that is decidedly Firefly-centric and has caused me a lot of contemplation about the nature of the short-lived series.

To say Firefly lacks depth isn't accounting for the fact that it didn't even get the first season completely aired before it was cancelled. I think Joss' following Fox project "Dollh ouse" is a good example of how a more complex second season could have followed had Firefly been given the chance. Both the first seasons of Firefly and Dollhouse were just laying groundwork for the character arcs that were on the way. Unfortunately Dollhouse also just started to get good before they got the axe and had to wrap things up in a hurry.

That being said, were I to have written the Io9 piece, I would have said that the points I think Firefly was (or potentially would be) examining were:

What makes up a family?
In the family theme we have the obvious Brother/Sister and Husband/Wife crew members, but we also have the crew as a family and the lengths that Captain Mal as the stern father figure will go to defend his family even when it runs against his stated intentions. Mal, the righteous outlaw, is contrasted with Inara, the potential mother and heart of the group, a law abiding citizen with a profession of a legalized prostitute that Mal finds immoral. The crew, like any normal family, may not always get along, but under dire circumstances they tend to pull together to help each other out.

What does it mean to have faith?
In the expository scene we have Mal, a rebel Sargent on the losing side of a civil war briefly praying before running into battle. We are given the suggestion that some time later (likely through the defeat of what he considered a righteous cause) that Mal has lost his faith as he declines to participate in Shepherd Book's saying of Grace over the communal meal, even saying he'd mind if the prayer is said out loud. Ironically, the most unrepentant criminal in the group, Jayne, even bows his head during the silent prayer. On the other end of the spectrum we have the Holy Man who has fallen in with thieves and has trials in his own beliefs. In the first episode Shepherd Book ends up confessing to Inara, in an ironic twist of roles, that he let the man he swore to protect get killed and he wasn't sure it was the wrong thing to do. We even have a small setup on the science vs. religion front with the relationship between Shepherd Book and the troubled genius River as Book tries to explain that, "you don't fix faith, it fixes you."

What is moral?
This topic alone could be split into its own top 10 list. We have several comparisons of moral inequalities from the most grandiose as "when is it moral for governments to impose their will upon those that do not want it" in the case of the civil war where the Alliance of the core planets defeated the outlying Independents who wanted to live a life free of big government interference. Scaled down we are also given example after example of the petty fiefdoms and oppressive oligarchy's that take root where the arm of the Alliance fails to dominate.

Corporate morality seems to also be present in the form of the ubiquitous Blue Sun Corporation, whose logos adorn billboards, t-shirts and labels throughout the series. We are led to believe that Blue Sun had something to do with River's physical and psychological transformation as she reacts negatively to the Blue Sun logo in a pair of instances in violent fashion. From this we can infer that there would have been more of an arc of storyline on the morality of the corporate influence on an individual's freedom.

On an interpersonal level we have examples of how morality guides the greater arcs of the individual characters. Mal sees himself as a sort of Robin Hood, but in the end many of his exploits benefit not the poor, or even his crew, but the criminal middle-men who hire him to do their dirty work. Yet, scraping by as they do, he often jumps to fulfill missions where the profit to himself is scant, if nonexistent through some ideal of what is right. Simon gave up a lucrative and prestigious career as a surgeon for the love of his sister, but what he sees as his duty to family supersedes any personal considerations. The mercenary, Jayne, sees everything through the filter of personal profit and openly refuses to act in anything but a selfish manner, even to the detriment to those around him. Inara makes her living as a high-class licensed prostitute that most of society accepts amorally if not semi-religiously. Mal continuously reduces her status to "whoring" and at one point in the series Inara accuses Mal of hurting his own prospects for criminal activity by staying away from profitable locations to keep her from plying her trade. Yet Mal tries to keep Inara's reputation clean by separating her involvement from the rest of the crew's illicit activities

The pastoral isn't always idyllic and the technological isn't always liberating
We have the tendency to look at the past through a nostalgic filter of a simpler time when men could live free, often without giving much consideration to the hardships of lives lived without the benefits of technology we experience. Also, we frequently don't see the chains with which we are bound by the technological wonders that do provide our lives with such ease. As the crew of Serenity moves between worlds we are offered glimpses of both the technologically brimming core planets where everything is monitored, analyzed and policed, and the backwater fringe worlds in dire need of basic medicines and necessities. We see slavers and bureaucrats, criminal kingpins and secret agents and are confronted with the fact that no society on either end of the technological extreme is without its drawbacks.

Firefly offered a unique blend of Science Fiction and Westerns, two genres that offer freedom from the constraints of normality to evaluate our existence. Sci-fi traditionally inspects what it means to be human, and westerns give the freedom to evaluate the components of a society and how individuals relate to the structure our communities provide. Together with morality as a fulcrum, the Firefly universe provided a complex scale to measure our own expectations of the world we live in while being entertained by a rich, imaginative environment with the freedom to explore nearly limitless sociological combinations.

Another Sunday with Bryce

2011-03-28T04:20:50Z

Repair Lessons, Dealers Bad, mmmkay?

2011-03-25T05:17:54Z

A couple months ago I took my S10 pickup truck into Larry H Miller Chevrolet to get the tailgate suspension cables replaced on a recall. Foolishly I had left the recall notice home (it was a 3rd or 4th notice, I hadn't been in a hurry to fix something so small). When I got there I was told that there was no recall notice for my vehicle and if I did actually get a card that I needed to bring it with me to prove such a recall existed. A couple weeks later I did return with the card and got the cables replaced. While I was there I asked about the cost of fixing some bad alignment that was causing tire wear. For about $80 they fixed the problem and I was pretty satisfied. Somehow that lulled me into a false sense of security about dealing with the dealership, despite a small parts department fiasco.

I had broken the release latch for the drivers rear half-door a couple years before and my brother had broken his several times and complained about it being such a flimsy part. For about three years I had put off fixing it, because I figured I could cast a bronze latch from the broken piece and have a durable part that I made myself. While the car was having the alignment checked I walked down to the parts department and inquired about the latch replacement. They quoted me $60 for the replacement, which I thought was insane, so I went back to the casting idea. Upon relating this story, my friend Sam pointed me at partsgeek.com and I found the same part for $6, plus $11 in shipping, so I bought it. I still want to cast the part, but at least my door is working for now.

This leads me up to the nice spring weather we were having last week. I was driving along and rolled the windows down to enjoy the weather and noticed that my brakes were squealing in a bad way. My last truck was a Toyota manual that I had for 10 years and over 160,000 miles. I'd never needed a brake job on it, and hadn't had one in the 40,000 miles I've put on this truck, so I've never really had any experience with brakes. Intellectually, I knew that brakes are something I should be able to do with a little internet research and a trip to the parts store. I'd even chatted up Jack, who I knew had done it recently, and he offered to help. But the return of crappy winter weather and basic laziness overcame my thrift and Monday I ran back to the dealership figuring that I'd just get it done.

In short order they came back and told me that it was going to cost $250 per axle, and that all four brakes needed to be done. With what I hoped was my best poker face, I said I thought I'd take it somewhere else. The repair liaison said ok, and he'd put it back together. As he was checking me out he told me he found a coupon online that I could go home and print out that would save me about $50 per axle, if I remember the figure through the red haze of anger that was building. I acknowledged with a nod as I signed over the $55 it was costing me to have the evaluation.

When I told Debbie, she said I should have taken it to her cousin's place. I hadn't even thought of that, even though we've had her old car in there a couple times. I went in today (without telling them about the dealership fiasco) and they came back and told me the front brakes were ok, with about 40% of the pad left, but the rear were down almost to the metal. They were able to replace the pads and turn the rotors for a total price that was way below what the dealership wanted for just one axle.

Now the final straw that pushed me into publicly telling this tale was when I got back to work after having the repair, I got an email from my brother that had a forwarded message he'd received from Larry H Miller that was addressing me asking me to take a survey about how well my visit went. Somehow they've even crossed up our info in their database.

So I'm done with LHM and dealerships in general, and if anyone is looking for a good mechanic, I'd have to recommend The Back Shop in West Valley at 3105 West 3500 South.