A Dog's Tale

If you haven't done it already, do yourself a favor and read Mark Twain's short story, A Dog's Tale.

My father was a St. Bernard, my mother was a collie, but I am a Presbyterian. This is what my mother told me, I do not know these nice distinctions myself. To me they are only fine large words meaning nothing.  more here

Notes from the day

Oops. The "Rapture" was a no show.
Chortling cherubs.

Okay. Time to clear the set. The Rapture was a no show. Ha ha. Sorry. No rain checks. No refunds. Time to move on. Here at the hotel, the boy is gone as is the old woman and her son who never left the compound. Funny how attached I get to strangers on the road. Anyway, they were immediately replaced by a sad cliche of a couple... a fat old American guy and his young Latin wife. Between his arrogance and her gold Rolex there is no love lost. He would be better off just paying for sex.

Dog and Buddha head - Costa Rica

These are from an old, lovely Spanish hacienda just up the street from La Sabana. The place has a slightly menacing air to it, palm trees rising behind the high walls of an inner court and a statuary attached. I only managed to take a few photos before an uptight guy came out and made a point of standing around on the sidewalk.

Notes at the end of the world

So far, I haven't taken many photos this trip. The most notable ones I didn't take were of the billboards along Route 66 in Texas alerting people to the fact that May 21, 2011 is Judgment Day. That's today. This is probably my last post. I expected The Rapture would be more inspiring, that maybe I'd manage to scribble down a couple of good lines before being cast into the abyss but no. Flat sea. Flat horizon. Not even the distant ridge line of an island or a few clouds gathered on the edge. NADA. Hmmm... perhaps my mind is the abyss and I've always been in it.

Did I mention that we are in Costa Rica at La Sabana Apartotel? It's much nicer than the hostels, madhouse B&Bs, funky hotels and weird campgrounds where we usually stay, not that I don't love them, mind you. But this is actually a nice place even though it's in San Jose.

Because La Sabana is so nice, and so apparently safe, medical tourists stay here while undergoing their whatever procedures. La Sabana is a small, safe lateral world perfect to recuperate in. One day glides quietly into the next beyond the filmy curtains. It's amazing how quiet it is here, given that it is in the middle of downtown San Jose. Well, this morning about 4 am I did have to call the desk and complain about a jet-lagged Euro couple who were sitting at the table just outside our open window smoking and drinking but no big deal. They left around 9 after a breakfast of beer and cigarettes, kid in tow. They probably went to the coast to zipline and look at monkeys. Watch out for the sloths, guys. I hear they are everywhere.

There is a steady stream of people here to watch, like the friendly couple from California. They came to San Jose to go to the dentist and talk to their lawyer. Seems a couple of years ago they bought a piece of Caribbean paradise beachfront property then, after the money changed hands, discovered that they didn't actually own anything at all. The document the realtor had them sign was not the title. It was an intent to buy.

But among our more notable fellow residents is a yoga teacher from Brooklyn who is recovering from hernia surgery. He offered to let us watch the DVD of his operation but we declined, politely. It was awkward. I half expect to see a note on the billboard... Movie at 2. Bring popcorn. We call him "The Boy" because, although he's basically our age, it's like he's our love child, one gone horribly awry. He looks like Lee... tall, shaved head... but he hangs out around the pool, twisted into the lotus position, waiting for people to sit nearby he can dazzle with his grasp of pop psychology and stories of his "dangerous" jungle adventures, both lead-ins for his conspiracy theories. Nevertheless, he is clearly more like his father than me.

In any case, if the world does end today, I hope the tiny hummingbirds who spend a lot of time here beak deep in the flowers will be alright. And, if this is THE END, I guess it means that I never did write that book you wanted me to Jim. Sorry. And, if today is Judgment Day, and Jesus destroys me for being a non-believer, I guess that means that I did not finish the new poem I've been working on too long. But just the other day I did update my poetry blog, Annasadhorse. I only posted a couple of old new poems but that is a couple more poems than there were before.

Rapture do over

Everybody knows that God keeps time with a sundial, not the UTC or even the GMT. I just had a horrible thought. What if He misses The Big Moment which is scheduled for 18:00 hours UTC? Does that mean we'd be stuck with all the damn Believers?

No bull

Here's some good news. In their recent election, Ecuador made an important step towards becoming a more consciously compassionate society by outlawing cockfighting and banning the killing of bulls in the ring. They need to ban bullfighting altogether but it's a step in the right direction.

Unfortunately Costa Rica, along with Colombia, Perú, Venezuela, Panamá and Bolivia, still allow this barbaric spectacle. Their attachment to bullfighting is especially pathetic given it is, in fact, a legacy of the spiritual gonorrhea the Spanish pricks infected the region with when they fucked the Americas 500 years ago.

But, times really are changing...

Last year the government of Cataluña in Spain banned bullfighting there ... and ... currently Mexico is poised to ban bullfighting entirely. That is significant, especially given that the Plaza México in Mexico City is the world’s biggest bullring. ¡Viva México!

sources: The Informed Vegan and the Irish Times

I'll get around to the personal side of our stay in Costa Rica later but here's one thing... there haven't been any new earthquakes since the 6.0 the other day. Slim comfort given that a really vivid image of the concrete ceiling dropping down and crushing me as I lay on the bed runs in mind whenever I think of it but I'll take it. I just have to think more like the locals. They are very used to them. Earthquakes are a regular occurrence here.

Earthquakes and daytime TV

Sandhill Cranes in a Florida shopping mall last Sunday morning. This is what I love about Florida. I wish we were there now but we decided to spend a few weeks in lovely Costa Rica before settling down in Florida for the summer.

So we're in San José at the moment. The capital. There's plenty of wildlife here too. For example, feeding the pigeons in Parque Central is wildly popular but, as much as I love birds, it seems kind of gruesome to me. It's an all day, every day feeding frenzy that feels like it might, any minute, spin out of control and you know who'd get blamed. The birds.

Holy crap! We just had an earthquake! 6.0 according to the news. The strongest this year to date. It was also felt throughout Nicaragua and Panama...this following an afternoon of repeating stories on TV about Bin Laden interspersed with images of the Mississippi flooding and Ron Paul scolding America again.

Happy Bad Mother's Day

Oh yeah. I almost forgot, Happy Bad Mother's Day to bad mothers everywhere. Today is our Day. I started a drawing to commemorate it but then didn't get it finished in time. Maybe next year.

Ultimate Dog Tease

In case you missed it.... this is hilarious!

U-Turn in 465 Miles

Well, we made it to Florida. Tonight we are staying in a little town in the panhandle called Marianna. It took us five days, at about 500 miles a day, to get this far. If all goes well, we will be in Venice by tomorrow afternoon where we'll stay briefly before going to Ft. Lauderdale then Costa Rica for about three weeks. After that we'll return to Venice where we plan to stay for the rest of the summer.

The drive went pretty well. We only had a couple of fights, regretted only one too-close-to-the-freeway-to-get-a-good-night's-sleep motel and ate at only one really bad restaurant. We did have to battle our cheap ass GPS from time to time but it still works. That's something. And we realized something about the South that never occurred to either of us before. Louisiana and Florida have hogged a helluva lot of coastline from Mississippi and Alabama.

Eye of the Beholder

Eye of the Beholder

I did this painting from a photo I took in Florida last fall. I believe I posted the actual photograph a few months ago. In any case, the painting was my valentine gift to Mr. Lee this year. Unfortunately, I did a little last minute touch up to the sandy area in the bottom quarter of the painting and, in the process, painted over some ruffled chest feathers and forgot to put them back in before giving him the painting. Now, he won't let me touch it up. It's his opinion that artists should not keep changing a piece once they've "finished" it. I, on the other hand, change things constantly. But it's his painting now and he won't let me touch it. I did finally photograph it so.... now I could fiddle with the digital version. This, however, is the painting, as it is.

We leave for Florida this Monday. As usual, I'm half mad running with the details of getting ready. There are so many things to do before we go. I'm taking a lunch break but now got to get back to my list. Enjoy the day.

Local news at 11:59

Other than a very personal, spiritual observation, I'm not much into Easter. As far as rebirth and renewal celebrations go, I prefer the Spring Equinox and this year it was March 20th. But Thea Bella and Baby Leo are enjoying the day with candy, colored eggs and plastic ones, some filled with candy, some with quarters for college and that's good enough for me. My round about way of saying Happy Easter.

As for my friend Bill, unbelievable. Two days prior to visiting him this guy had had a a big juicy vein pulled from his leg like a worm, his sternum sawed open, his heart artificially stopped, all six blockages cut out and replaced with segments of the leg vein and yesterday he was FUCKING RED LETTER FANTASTIC. The giant slice through his chest is practically healed and he was cheery as ever. He did give the hospital staff a scare however because two days after the surgery he went for a walk on his own. He went to the chapel, I'm guessing to say thanks, but it was on an entirely different floor which was out of range of the heart monitors and set them clanging. You can't keep this guy down. Seems his Alzheimer wife entirely forgot he'd gone in for open heart surgery but even that didn't bother him. The three of us had a good laugh about it.

Other than that, I recently started using new hosting sites for the images I post here because they don't put a cap on uploads, Lafango for my own photos and Imgur for reposts of ones I find on the web. Seems I have exceeded my allotted bandwidth with this blog and after that Blogger canalizes older photo postings to make room for new ones.

UPDATE: Lafango sucks. Forget about em. They won't allow my own photos, which I upload there, to repost on my blog. They are useless to me.

My friend Bill

My friend Bill, the 77 year old cool dude ski god who roller blades with his three dogs and cares for his Alzheimer wife and generally runs everyone into the ground younger than him, had bypass surgery the other day. Amazingly, and in spite of his awesome prowess, he had six clogged arteries or veins, whichever. Spaghetti. Yesterday on the phone he said he'd like to learn a little bit about eating a more vegetarian diet. Yay! That's Bill for you. His otherwise wonderful physical condition has everything to do will his perpetually open mind and willingness to change. We're going to visit him at the hospital this afternoon and bring him a starter veggie cookbook. I love this guy. We are slobs who are willing to put up with the most basic of menus... rice, beans, oatmeal, tofu, seitan, a ton of fruit, lots of veggies (fresh and frozen), a little fish, free range eggs, daily giant slices of crustless pumpkin pie etc. and a hell of a lot of Amy's and Kashi organic frozen vegetarian dinners. Bill wants to do stuff like soak and grind soy beans for veggie loafs, IOW, actually cook. After he's fed his wife and dogs, maybe we can get the leftovers.

Monday recap

My brother's garden

Since my last post, I spent time with my brother and his wife in Seattle, was home for two days then M. Lee and I came here to Southern Oregon on Friday, drove his mom to the Bay Area on Saturday to visit his ailing sister and came back to Oregon on Sunday. We will return home in the AM.

I haven't felt much like posting. I got bogged down with photos and once that happens I lose the thread. In two weeks we are leaving for Florida for the summer. I hope to be back on track by then.

It's been wonderful visiting family but not all has been well with everyone along the way. At the moment it's just too complicated to write about and not really my business to do so. Things will work their way out. Tonight I just needed to move the words along.

Once upon a time....

Saturday was my last day in Great Falls so we had breakfast at Tracy's, a Montana 24-hour diner that's been serving up distinctly American cuisine for over 50 years. Tracy's is very much old school and proud of it.

For one thing, they don't accept any plastic, neither debit nor credit, only checks and cash. But they do have a website and on it boast about being a "hot spot" at night. Must be true. They have ancient juke boxes in every booth and they still work, kind of.

Ours played music, just not the selections we picked, and nothing modern. Being the last of Montana's old-time diners, Tracy's has appeared in several, as their website says, "old-time movies", including "Holy Matrimony" directed by Leonard Nimoy.

Baby Leo and Mama

Of course Leonard Nimoy has a permanent pass and lifelong honorary hero status but I wasn't surprised to read the following review of  "Holy Matrimony" at IMDB.

Leonard Nimoy directing "Holy Matrimony"

"You sort of find yourself feeling the same way about it that you would about a child's school report read aloud...gently ignoring glaring flaws and nodding encouragingly."

Rumor has it that the cheese at Tracy's is Velveeta but I can not confirm that. I had the white bread French toast which came fried in bacon grease. What other totally '50s things do you notice about this table?

Baby Leo having a story before nap time.
He is a truly sweet little fellow.

I thought it was spring

Montana in April

This morning we woke to snow.

By the way . . . the white jacket?
Other than a few black hairs from Nevada the very black, very shiny Lab
it's still white!

 

Creepy or quirky?

Pierley/Redford Dissociative Affect Diagnostic

Here's a quirky test. I don't know if it's legit but it is interesting if not a bit creepy. Best not to think about your answers. I did and at one point even got a bit paranoid. Anyway, here's what I got.

"You need to help others and to be thought of as a generous and kind individual. Often you are taken advantage of and regarded as simply part of the scenery. You work best when handling the work yourself; you do not appreciate a managerial role and tend to be uncomfortable in that position. Friendship is important to you, but it is generated on a personal basis, rarely a professional one. Consequently, family life is very important to you, and is often the most important aspect. Because of a strong sense of propriety however, you will sometimes consider the eccentric behavior of your friends and family as a personal affront. Often you find it difficult to speak up about personal anguish or pain, feeling instead that it is something an individual should bear in silence. Tradition is important to you, and you feel a sense of belonging when operating within the constraints of a predictable routine."

It's not the full picture by any means but rings true. However, the part about "needing to be thought of as a kind person" is a strange slant. For me kindness is a spiritual practice, an action not a social image. And as for being "taken advantage of" etc., I've have my bouts with that but learn from them. The comment about shunning managerial positions is spot on. Getting tangled up in that kind of thing is not for me. I am an outsider. I prefer autonomy to notoriety or control over others. For me Einstein says it best... "Strive not to be a success but rather to be of value."

Friday outtakes

Thea Bella & Company.

Portland afternoon

Thea Bella is down for a nap. Today that means for the last hour and 19 minutes she has been in her crib cooing, singing and squeaking at her dollie. Oh and just now she commanded my presence. Gah-ma... (wait wait wait) as she (listen listen listens). She really should sleep.

Meanwhile, it's sunny outside. This being Portland (now the cooing has been replaced by a sporadic whine, squeal lament then silence as she listen listen listens)... as I was saying... this being Portland in the midst of what is forecast to be a record breaking wet Spring, a sunny afternoon is a spectacular event.

Owie the dog is here now for another scratch. Poor fellow. Mr. Cone Head. He's still recovering from the second surgery, the one to remove the metal rod in his leg. He's doing great. He's a saint, that dog.

Oh and the phone charger arrived yesterday and the phone today.Yay. Thank you, Mr. Lee. He's the best.

As for the white jacket? It's safely (I think) tucked under my raincoat in an out of the way place.  Mmmmm.... better go hang it up in the closet.

Okay. Mama's home. We're off to the park. Can't waste the sunshine.

Notes from the plane

Just after I got to the Southwest boarding gate yesterday I realized that I'd left my phone at home and muttered "god damn it!" under my breath in an emphatic and more or less fairly loud voice causing an old couple seated nearby to recoil and stiffen like irritated cats. I immediately plopped down, pulled out my laptop, skyped M. Lee and left a very contrite message that went something like "please please mail my phone as soon as possible, like today". Overhearing that, a really nice guy sitting one row over jumped up and offered his phone so I could call mine. That threw the cats off a bit though they managed to continue radiating disapprove. But no phone.

This is getting old. Last weekend I left my phone charger in Tonopah. A replacement is on the way. Now the phone. The worst part is that I tired, I really tried to pack right. I'm experimenting with a smaller bag and everything counts. I checked and rechecked. Two of this, one of that and not much of anything. Then I leave the damn phone.

~Contest with the Gods~

Right after the plane took off and we got the business of oxygen masks and flotations devices out of the way, one of the flight attendants rushed me a cup of coffee before anyone else got served. Perhaps you are thinking, "God! Was she that distraught"? I tell you. No. I trust M. Lee. The phone and charger will come. So why did I get two cups of coffee? Simple. The gods are toying with me. And why? Because I brought the white jacket. 

This jacket has hung in my closet since I got it, two years ago. I've never worn it. I've been afraid. On me, white attracts disaster at every turn. I think about wearing white and tomato sauce foments in the can. My own pen turns on me like an inksaber possessed. Coffee refuses to stay in the cup.

As it did on the plane.

That first cup of coffee, compliments of the gods? It tipped over and spilled toward the pristine white jacket cradled safely, I thought, on my lap. It missed by half a centimeter. And when my daughter picked me up at the airport carrying her barista special? Unlikely globs of coffee sloshed at me through the lid. The score? So far? So good. It's on, bitches.

Writer wanted

Matt Doig wrote this ad for the Sarasota Herald-Tribune and, yes, it's a real ad in a real newspaper. It's been making the rounds but I'm reposting just in case you missed it. And no, I don't know if the job's still open. We will be staying in Florida this summer near Sarasota so I especially like the last paragraph and plan to at least do a drive by of the paper. My kind of people.

We want to add some talent to the Sarasota Herald-Tribune investigative team. Every serious candidate should have a proven track record of conceiving, reporting and writing stellar investigative pieces that provoke change. However, our ideal candidate has also cursed out an editor, had spokespeople hang up on them in anger and threatened to resign at least once because some fool wanted to screw around with their perfect lede.

We do a mix of quick hit investigative work when events call for it and mini-projects that might run for a few days. But every year we like to put together a project way too ambitious for a paper our size because we dream that one day Walt Bogdanich will have to say: “I can’t believe the Sarasota Whatever-Tribune cost me my 20^th Pulitzer.” As many of you already know, those kinds of projects can be hellish, soul-sucking, doubt-inducing affairs. But if you’re the type of sicko who likes holing up in a tiny, closed  office with reporters of questionable hygiene to build databases from scratch by hand-entering thousands of pages of documents to take on powerful people and institutions that wish you were dead, all for the glorious reward of having readers pick up the paper and glance at your potential prize-winning epic as they flip their way to the Jumble… well, if that sounds like journalism Heaven, then you’re our kind of sicko.

For those unaware of Florida’s reputation, it’s arguably the best news state in the country and not just because of the great public records laws. We have all kinds of corruption, violence and scumbaggery. The 9/11 terrorists trained here. Bush read My Pet Goat here. Our elections are colossal clusterfucks. Our new governor once ran a health care company that got hit with a record fine because of rampant Medicare fraud. We have hurricanes, wildfires, tar balls, bedbugs, diseased citrus trees and an entire town overrun by giant roaches (only one of those things is made up). And we have Disney World and beaches, so bring the whole family.

Send questions, or a resume/cover letter/links to clips to my email address below. If you already have your dream job, please pass this along to someone whose skills you covet. Thanks.

Matthew Doig

Sarasota Herald-Tribune
1741 Main St.
Sarasota FL, 34236
(941) 361-4903
matthew.doig@heraldtribune.com

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More from Tonopah

The strange hills of Tonopah

The road goes straight to town

Convention Center (L) Belvedere Hotel (R) home to many pigeons

Ramada casino display.

Old Roma Cafe on the outskirts of town.

Tonopah in the spring

Lovely Tonopah. It's like coming home.
The baby bunny in the road

had no interest in moving for
the jeep even when I honked. 

When we finally

got to the Ramada

I rolled for the free room.

It takes three of a kind to win.

The guy checking in ahead of us won.

I did not.

Another cure for writer's block

Deadlines. So says Laura Miller in her recent article posted at Salon. We knew it all along, right? If  you have to, you will. So, I have given myself 10 minutes to write this post. Damn. I just wasted about three of those minutes fiddling around finding albums to copy to my player and several more re-reading Miller's article. I am down to one minute. ONE MINUTE. Deadlines and decoy projects.

That's what every blocked writer really needs: something more significant they should be doing instead, an earth-shaking, life-changing project you're stealing time from to work on this little novel. Or the great novel you ought to be drafting while you knock off your memoir just for fun. Granted, inventing such a decoy project and convincing yourself that you may actually get around to it someday requires a bold and sustained act of imagination. But that's what writers do, isn't it -- make stuff up?

My "decoy project": is blogging. How fucked is that?

Plastic Bag, narrated by Werner Herzog

My new favorite tale about the adventures of a discarded plastic bag struggling with its immortality as it ventures through a post-apocalyptic America.

Super Mega Moon in Minden

It isn't much but it's the best of the cell phone photos I got last night as the super mega moon was rising over Minden, Nevada. It's not a good photo. It's blurry and taken through the windshield. The streetlights are bigger than the lovely moon and it was lovely. In case you've never heard of Minden Nevada, now you have. This is the one of two blocks that make up what is basically downtown.

 

I want this to be all there is of Minden Nevada but it's not but the way the downtown is is still kind of the way it was, which I like. By the time I got home and to a good camera and tripod, minutes later, the moon had nearly vanished behind black clouds so this is it.

Oh, and Happy Spring Equinox. I would have preferred cherry blossoms to snow but snow it is.