Eurostars Blue Tulum

The best part of our recent Mexico trip was the food and the people. I'm a Mexican food fan, but I certainly didn't expect culinary delights to be the best part of the vacation. Actually, I was a bit frightened by the prospects of getting ill from unsavory food, but once I got there I found all the eatables to be very good and fresh.

I was so happy to arrive at Tulum. We had been trekking through the hot jungle all day. We spent a couple of hours exploring some cenotes earlier in the day and were ready to do some relaxing. And that is exactly what we got to do at Eurostars Blue Tulum.

The guard opened the large metal gate, and we entered another world. We were met by two very friendly smiling faces. On a large silver platter were fluffy, small, moist towels that felt as though they had recently been pulled from a cold refrigerator - and had a relaxing herbal scent. I held it to my sweaty forehead for a moment before draping it across the back of my overheated neck. Incredible! We were then escorted on a tour of the facility en route to our room.

The hotel grounds were stunningly beautiful. Perched on the edge of the world, overlooking the lovely blue waters of the Caribbean on one side, and the relentless dense jungle on the other.

Our room was beautiful and very comfortable. I loved everything about it. There was a nice-sounding Bose stereo playing music on a provided iPod. I replaced it with my own iPod, and played Mountain Animal Hospital's Startled By Deer. It sounded great in our lovely room.






Our hotel in Tulum provided absolutely the most helpful and accommodating service we received anywhere on our trip through the jungle. The food was exceptional, and the chefs and servers were all a pleasure to meet.

We were there for only one night, but it would have been easy to stay there forever.

Skirtin' Behind the Zion Curtain

I've been behind the Zion Curtain for the past week on a business/family trip. Here are some photos from the journey through the Beehive State.

A Sneak Peek

I had the opportunity to see some sets and personalities of an upcoming full-length stop-motion film. Soon, these characters will be everywhere. The secluded warehouse in the old industrial part of Salt Lake is filled with lots of impressive miniature sets and elaborate mobile camera mounts on tracks that will make it all come alive.

Grandfather Interupted

My dear old dad hadn't been feeling well, and had been praying all week that he'd be well enough to attend the wedding dinner for his granddaughter, Michelle, the first of his grandchildren to be married. But God had other plans for my dad that night. About three hours before the dinner, his heart was beating irregularly, at about 140 beats per minute. I followed him to the hospital, and checked him into the emergency room where I was impressed with the promptness at which the Tooele Valley Hospital staff attended to him. They provided exceptional service and were successful at shocking his heart back into a normal rhythm. They released him later that night, but unfortunately, he had already missed his granddaughter's wedding dinner.

Wedding Bells

On Yom Kippur, my niece, Michelle, got married to her fiance, Carson, in the Salt Lake Temple. While the bride and groom attended a private wedding ceremony within the walls of the Mormon mishkan, the kids and I toured the downtown area. What a surprise. Everything in Salt Lake is different now. The freeways have all been replaced and changed since I moved away fifteen years ago. There were lots of things I wanted to show to the kids, but every place I tried to take them, was no longer there when we arrived. Much of the city looks like a war zone with all of the construction going on. The once bustling Trolley Square was like a ghost town. We saw only about four shoppers there as we strolled the empty corridors looking for a place to buy black socks. Most of the stores were gone. I bought a Polygamy Porter T-shirt at Cabin Fever, one of the few stores that was open.



Temple Square in Salt Lake is always impressive. The Salt Lake Temple is one of the finest examples of nineteenth century architecture anywhere in the world. Every stone is a work of art. I've spent hours contemplating the exquisite construction and accompanying symbols.

One of my favorite things to do while in Salt Lake, is attend the daily organ recital inside the historic Tabernacle. It was so moving to experience this king of instruments again. There is really nothing like it. The acoustically friendly Tabernacle allows this powerful instrument to be experienced at it's fullest. Every tone sharp, crisp and audible. We had time to hear the first couple of selections before we had to leave to rendezvous with the wedding entourage for photographs in front of the temple.



Michelle looked beautiful as she posed for photographs with her handsome new husband, Carson, on the steps of this magnificent edifice in the heart of Great Salt Lake City.

It was entertaining to watch the photographers work so hard to get the perfect shot.
This was the first time I had been close enough to get a picture of these amazing door knobs. My key didn't work.
Later that night, at the wedding reception, I got to see my my Aunt Mae and my cousins LaRee, Jan and Bette. I hadn't seen any of them for ages and it was a nice but short reunion. I got to see lots of other folks I don't get to see very often. It makes me realize how far away I truly am out here in California, and that I need to spend more time with my family who live behind the Zion Curtain.

Park City Snow Storm

We spent the night in Park City, and woke up to a blustering snow storm. The snow that makes Utah famous was accumulating fast. There was already two inches on top of the Prius. I grabbed a broom and swept off the fluffy almost weightless snow, and began loading the car in hopes of getting off the mountain before more snow fell. By the time I had finished loading the car, another two inches had fallen. I swept off the car once more, and it was time to find out how the Prius would perform in slippery conditions. It didn't.

Most of our descent from Parley's Summit was a controlled slide. There was no way we could stop, and we observed many close calls before we had dropped in elevation below the snow level. Mason said that "Driving down Parley's Canyon at 20 MPH was much more intense than driving fast across Nevada."


Historic Salt Lake's Unseen Backside

The Rio Grand used to be where Amtrak stopped. Now the passenger trains stop at a cheesy mobile trailer unit a few blocks southwest from this beautiful historic building which used to house one of my favorite restaurants (Rio Grande). Maybe it still does. I didn't stop to find out.

A half block east of State Street on 1st Avenue, there's a place you won't find on any tourist map. The grave of Brigham Young is relatively unknown and almost invisible to passers-by. Only a handful of people know about it. I hadn't been there for years. I used to like going to this spot because it is so quiet, and no one else ever goes there. It's a great place to be alone. Ironically, this small cemetery is only a couple of blocks away from the hustle and bustle of Temple Square where tourists come from the ends of the earth to see historic Mormon sites.
This life-like bronze sculpture of Brigham Young and three of his children seemed almost real. It was like being next to real people.

Go West Young Man

Saying goodbye to my aging parents is always the most difficult part of traveling to Utah. I remember how my Mom would cry when she would leave her own sweet mother standing on the porch of her Pang Town home. Now I understand her angst. On Sunday morning we set out to travel west to our home in California. Native American music on KRCL's Living the Circle of Life program* helped to create a nostalgic ambiance as we rolled across the Salt Flats listening to the radio. The Tree of Utah bid us farewell as we passed by on the cold stormy morning at 75MPH. It was a long drive.


Twelve hours on the road is too much too much too much too much!

* I had listened to the program regularly before I moved away fifteen years ago. Now, I can hear it on the Internet, and I get up early every Sunday to listen to the program.

Back From the Jungle

For the past ten days we've been vacationing in the Yucatan Jungle. Yesterday, we arose early to catch our plane home to California. We had the opportunity to see the sun rise over the Caribbean Sea, and when we arrived home, we watched it set over the Pacific Ocean.

California Guitar Trio's cover of Yes' Heart of the Sunrise played through my iPod earphones as I viewed this glorious spectacle from out of the aeroplane window. Ironically, the majority of the passengers chose to close their shutters and watch TV rather than view the beautiful scene taking place in real-time thirty-five thousand feet below. The Sun setting over the San Lorenzo River in Santa Cruz.

Living in the Eighties

Remember those fancy eighties fashions?

That was a rhetorical question.

Psychic Friend or Foe

It's kind of scary how gullible most people are.

My good friend Rod was a smart kid, and graduated among the top of his class at Platteville High School.

Once he paid Mighty Mo and myself a visit when we lived in Madison, Wisconsin. When he arrived at our apartment, he took notice of my lovely polished swirl-obsidian sphere. His intrigue put me into a position which allowed me to pull his leg a bit... probably more than I should have.

I told him that the sphere was a magical scrying oracle, and that through it, I could see things. He was skeptical at first, but when I began to tell him things about himself that no one could have possible known, he became convinced that I was actually seeing into the dusty corners of his life. All I was really doing was observing his reaction to my suggestions, and coming to logical conclusions. By the time he left our apartment, he was convinced that I had some kind of gift to see into the magical sphere. Mighty Mo had witnessed the entire event, and after the door closed behind Rod, she said "That was amazing!" She thought the performance was legitimate as well, but when I told her that I faked the entire thing, she was angry with me, and made me apologize to Rod.

I called Rod later that day to let him know that the reading had in reality been a ruse, but he refused to believe that I had fooled him, reiterating, that I had told him things that no one could have possible known. I failed to convince him otherwise.

I am definitely not psychic, and I doubt that such a thing exists. Inflection and body language say much more than words alone, and can be easily interpreted by anyone paying attention to such details. It is my opinion that people who claim to be psychic, are in reality, opportunists (scam artists) who play on the physical and vocal responses of their paying clientele, telling them what they already know (to create the illusion of magick), then telling them what they want to hear to keep them coming back to buy more insight.

5,479 Rotations of the Third Planet

That's enough to make a girl dizzy.

Happy Birthday Bro

Happy Birthday Bro!
I miss you!

18 on the 18th

Eighteen times around the Sun

This is a first for me. I can't stop thinking about that Neil Young song, where he sings,



"Why you growin' up so fast, my son?.. well, you'd better take your time."


Well he's gone and done it... my own son is all grown up now. It happened so fast. Soon he'll be graduating from high school and going on a semi-world tour with his band, The Vox Jaguars. Then, who knows where his incredible musical talent will take him?

A Born Button Pusher

It doesn't surprise me that he's succeeding so profoundly in music. We quite regularly sang to him while he was still in the womb. We called him Skinny back then, and I'd put my face near Mighty Mo's mighty tummy, and softly sing,

"Skinny was born in a bath tub And grew so incredibly thin, that even the end of an eye-dropper would suck him in..."

As an infant, he listened to Bach, Mozart, and other long-hairs while he napped. In our home, he got to hear lots of great music, and experienced an eclectic selection of sounds, which gave him an appreciation for music from the other side of the fence,* so to speak. When he started elementary school, he got into country and western music for a while. We decided not to say anything to him about it, and hoped that it was a phase he would out-grow. He did, and we breathed a sigh of relief.

As he grew and gained mobility, he gravitated toward button pushing. If he saw a button, he had to push it... and there was no stopping him. Today he continues to push lots of buttons on his sound equipment, keyboards, etc. and I suppose that, in a way, fretting his bass is an extension of button pushing as well.

He was already playing bass when he saw Tony Levin at the Rio Theater in Santa Cruz. I think that's when Mason got really serious about the bass. Soon he could play all the Primus songs, and pretty much anything else that got thrown his way. He even taught himself an all-bass version of Bach's Toccata und Fugue in D minor. One of my favorites.

Now he's involved in so many projects it's difficult to keep track. Next week the Vox Jaguars are trekking all the way to Los Angeles for another studio recording session, and a show at the Silverlake Lounge on Sunset Blvd.

Fortunately, I'm not hearing that Cats in the Cradle song in my head today. I'm happy to say that I have been here for my kids. It was wonderful to be a part of Mason's childhood, and to watch him grow up to be such a respectful, and respectable person.

Happy Birthday Mason
The world is in your hands,
And you'll continue to make the world a better place.


* Opaque melodies that would bug most people.

D-Day - 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9

Today is a big day for my Father who turned 81.
That's the same as being nine years old, nine times.

Happy Birthday kid!

Xtra Files 3: How to Hide a Mountain

Don was happy that the war was over. He had been away from home for what seemed like a lifetime, and in his absence, the world, and the role of his country had changed forever. He gazed out across the barren panoramic landscape of southern Utah, and pondered his life experiences. He considered that although the world was a much different place than it had been before the war, out in the vastness of the desert, everything appeared to be pretty much the same as it had always been.

The arid-desert air dried his sinuses as he savored the aroma of Basin Big Sage mingled with Pinion and Juniper. Worlds away from the moist climate of Japan where he had spent the previous couple of years of his life serving in the United States Army assisting in the rebuilding** of Japan, after the war. He loved the Japanese people, and thought about the good friends he had made there. The memory of their faces was still fresh in his mind, when it occurred to him that he would probably never see any of them ever again.

Don had a date later that night with a gal named Puss,* and would need to head back to town before too long, but it was so good to be home, and the desire to explore couldn't be squelched, so he pressed on. He was already about twenty or so miles west of Cedar City, when he decided to head over to the magnetic mountain he remembered from his youth.

It's difficult to misplace a large 300- to 400- foot tall, cone-shaped mountain with a diameter of approximately 1/4 mile, that is composed entirely of high-grade magnetite (a naturally occurring magnetic iron ore), but as he approached the area where he knew it was located, it was nowhere to be seen. It seemed like a dream at first... after all, he had been there dozens of times, but now, the large mountain was entirely gone. Vanished from the landscape forever. Things had changed more than he originally suspected. Still, it was good to be home.

Where did the mountain go?

The probable answer is that as the war effort increased, so did the need for new sources of iron ore to build America's war machine - ships, tanks, jeeps, trucks, bomb casings, and etc. would all be needed to defeat the Axis Powers in Europe and the Pacific. The Manhattan Project alone required millions of tons of steel.

** A role the US would continues to practice throughout the world to this day.

* Names have not been changed.

"to remove a mountain and cast it to the sea" Isaiah

Electric Leaves

Pictured L to R - Art Emanuel, Mason Rosenberg, Jordan Topf and Luke David

Last night I ventured out into the rain, and drove to the Crepe Place to see one of Santa Cruz' finest new musical ensembles. This was only the second time Electric Leaves Collective* has performed live, even though they sounded as though they've been playing together for a long time. That is in part due to the fact that Bassist Mason Rosenberg and Guitarist Jordan Topf are cohorts in the locally famous, smart-rock band, The Vox Jaguars**. Electric Leaves are nothing like the Vox Jags, (or any of Mason's other bands*** for that matter). The music is written and directed by front man Luke David, who plays keyboards, guitar and vocals. The clever presentation of tones is held cohesively together by the brilliant percussion of Art Emanuel.

As the band played before a large portrait of Robert Zimmerman, the audience consisting mostly of twenty-somethings was captivated by the engaging music. Even the servers took time out of their patron-to-patron marathon to watch the expertise of the musicians. The warm colors inside the Crepe Place nicely offset the cold visible rain falling outside.

I'd see them again.

*Electric Leaves Collective

Jordan at Crepe Place

http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=12271866

**The Vox Jaguars

Live at Brookdale Lodge January 2008

http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=99384041

*** Including his Harbor High School Band where he plays stand up bass, Mason is in five very different bands.

A duo with Mr.Laser-Smith, Couteau is an Elektronique extravaganza of sounds somewhat reminiscent of Daft Punk.

Live at Metamusic January 2008

http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=209030117

Then there's the band formerly known as Pterodactobot http://www.myspace.com/wetrenchgalaxies

Goodby Uncle Bill

I was at the flea market* thumbing through a stack of old dusty records when I heard my cell phone ring. "Mom... why would she be calling right now?" I wondered. "Hi mom, what's up?" I said. There was a loud electronic speaker playing sappy fifties music positioned about four feet in front of me which made it impossible to hear my mother. I quickly moved to an area where I could hear what she had to say. I stepped behind a blue van where it was quiet, and my mom informed me that my Uncle Bill had passed away this morning. The news was painful and took me completely by surprise. When I got off of the phone, forcing back the tears, I stepped back into the crowd and felt as though I was moving in slow motion as the hoards of people swarmed chaotically around me. Drowning on suppressed emotion, I floated along down the river of market-place shoppers. I needed to explode with emotion, but somehow tediously managed to contain the seemingly imminent eruption. As I reflected on the weight of the moment, a rebellious pair of tears escaped and attempted to get away. I found them hiding under my chin and quickly captured them with the sleeve of my jacket.

When I got home, I stood on my deck to be alone and think about Uncle Bill. Chairman Meow sensed my sorrow and got up from his sunny spot to walk over and nudge his head affectionately against my ankle. Vines reached down to me from above and I remembered the thick vines covering the front side of Uncle Bill's home in Rose Park. As a small child I had been fascinated by their mysterious ability to climb and cover the wall. Inside his house, through the living room, down a long hallway and in the last room on the left, I sat with Uncle Bill and watched men walking on the moon... on TV. I watched fuzzy black and white images from a cozy bean bag chair, the first one I had ever seen. On the shelves were books, jars full of pennies a Geiger Counter and other curiosities. He always had something interesting to show me.

Uncle Bill was an avid listener to Salt Lake's local talk programs, and became a regular caller. He turned me on to talk radio when I was pretty young, and I heard him call KTKK and KALL on numerous occasions. He was especially fond of listening to Bob Lesch and Golden Delicious (Donald Packard) when I was living in Salt Lake in the early nineties.

Uncle Bill was afflicted with diabetes, but even when he lost his eyesight, he didn't allow that to thwart his activities. Although completely blind, he built a room onto his home and rebuilt a classic automobile completely by sense of touch. He even taught himself to play piano. I remember him playing Scott Joplin's Entertainer with absolute precision. I was impressed.

The cruel disease of Alzheimer's eventually stole his brilliant mind, and the last time I saw Uncle Bill, he didn't remember very much, but he could still whistle familiar tunes. We shared a special moment as we whistled a song together in harmony. It was so good to be able to connect with him.

Condolences to my sweet Aunt Mae who loved Uncle Bill with all her heart, and to their three children and their kids.

*On another sad note, this weekend marks the end of a Santa Cruz tradition. The flea market and drive-in are closing permanently to make way for more hospital expansion.

William Charles 1925-2007
Santa Cruz Drive In 1947-2007

It's Faye Day

My mother would do anything for us kids. My brother seemed to always have her running some odd errand or another. On one occasion, she had been directed to purchase machetes, and books on speaking ape. The cashier raised his brow, and looked at her as if she was mad as she reluctantly requested a book on ape language. Another time, he had her pick up tickets for the Vanilla Fudge concert, but when she reached the box office, she had forgotten the name of the band, and asked to purchase two tickets to Chocolate Fudge.

What a great sport!

Happy Birthday Mom!

Thanks for EVERYTHING!

I Love You!

You're peanut butter fudge is still the BEST!

Sightings of Vox Jaguars In CA & The NW

It has been a colourful and prosperous year for the popular Santa Cruz band, the Vox Jaguars. In the Spring of 2007, Mason, the VJ bassist, broke his hand right before their show at the Brookdale Lodge. Before the X-Rays were taken, he insisted that the show must go on, and played the show. He then took some time off to heal. Meanwhile, Trevor graduated from high school, and Sam joined the band to fill in on bass until Mason recovered. The moment Mason's cast came off, the band was off on their Southern California Tour where they made some new friends, and new fans...

In July the VJ's were off to Portland, Oregon for their NW Tour. In August, they were off to Southern Cal again. Mason was feeling rather ill the entire time they were in Los Angeles. When he returned to Santa Cruz, he wasn't getting any better. He went to acupuncture and it helped a little, but after going to breakfast on Saturday morning, he was getting progressively worse. For the next day and a half, he was on the couch, and finally went to the emergency room and learned a little late that he had been suffering from an inflamed and ruptured appendicitis. He was rushed in for an emergency appendectomy, then, after a frightening NDE in the recovery room, he had to spend a week in the hospital.

Not long after Mason recovered from his surgery, he was riding his bike down Broadway to meet his girlfriend at Pergles, and was struck by an automobile as it pulled into a driveway. Mason was thrown from his bike across the hood of the car, but seemed to be all right. The majority of the impact was absorbed by his strategically placed cellphone in his front pocket. A handful of X-Rays determined that the leg was not broken, but was badly bruised - a contusion. Mason hobbled around on crutches for days, then one crutch... then a cane for a couple of weeks, and is now walking with a slight limp, and somewhat hesitantly riding a bike again.

Earlier this month, Mason was honored with the title of "Best Musician" for the Harbor High Senior Superlatives and today he had his photo taken for the yearbook - ever to be etched in time. HE shared the honor with his former band mate Kat.

Today the band signed a contract with a television program called Canterbury's Law, which is set to premier on Fox in January 2008 on Thursdays at 9:00 PM. The Vox Jaguar song, "Swagger," will be featured on one of the episodes.

More good news for The Vox Jaguars in Santa Cruz. The following article by Dylan Travis appears in this week's, Good Times Santa Cruz:

Having mastered a swagger beyond their years, the local teenaged quartet Vox Jaguars has indie labels swooning

Who says rock is dead in Santa Cruz? Certainly not the girl who chases after the scrawny, grinning frontman for the Vox Jaguars, Jordy Topf, as he arrives for an interview. “Get away! Creeper,” he shouts, pleased with the attention. Swooning high school girls aren’t the only fans the Jaguars are contending with these days. The local quartet (made up of Topf, Trevor Hope, Mason Rosenberg, and Sam Copperman) was recently name checked by experimental L.A. rockers No Age in a Pitchfork feature as one of their “Favorite New Bands.”

“We went and saw No Age play the Troubadour and it was a really amazing show,” Topf says. “We basically became friends with them, and they brought these guys from Deerhunter to our show in Glendale, which was pretty awesome because I had their record too. They watched us play and they were into it, I guess!”

For this band of 17 to 19-year-old, mostly high school students (only drummer Trevor has graduated so far), the national acclaim is unexpected, but certainly warranted. The Vox Jaguars burst with exuberant, youthful energy at their live shows, handling roaring waves of garage-rock with the skill of bands that are ten years older. Their self-titled, self-released EP oozes with that magic combination of attitude and disinterest that catapulted groups like The Strokes to fame in the early part of the decade, and earlier recordings sound like an earnest, Third/Sisterlovers-era Alex Chilton fronting the Modern Lovers.

“I think the songs Jordy wrote before Mason and I were in the band are a lot more raw and straight-up rock and roll,” Hope says, “and once we started writing with Jordy it got a bit different.” Topf adds, “We just broadened our influences, we all listen to so much music. But we still stick to the rock and roll, because that’s how it started.” Sticking to their rock influences (Topf is a fan of Velvet Underground’s cacophonous White Light/White Heat) is what they do best—this is no Strokes-lite indie outfit.

Much of the Vox Jaguars’ success has come about as a result of touring, which might have been a logistical nightmare without the help of Topf’s stepfather, who shared driving duties. “Neither of these fools have driver’s permits” says Trevor, gesturing at his bandmates and seeming a bit miffed at the prospect of driving them around on another tour. Bassist Mason Rosenberg also remembers the negative aspects of life on the road. “Probably the worst show was at the Scene in LA,” he says. “There were probably about three people there, including John who drove us.”

However, a musician’s life seems to be destiny for these four; indie labels have already come knocking with offers of European releases and tours. The band is keeping clear heads and realistic goals about it all. “I just want to have people come to our shows every night and love the music, and know all the words, and I guess respect what we’re doing” Topf says. They’re well on their way with songs like “Metropolis” that are full of smart hooks that belie their age. “Your heart is a crowded metropolis,” Topf sneers, devoid of the naïveté you might expect from a 17-year-old songwriter. A proper release is on the way as well. “I’m just stoked on writing new songs right now and we’re planning on recording an album sometime next year,” Trevor says. “I just want to work hard on it and make sure we do the best that we can do. When we release that, we’ll just see what happens and hopefully play a lot more shows.”

When asked if they’d drop out of high school if they get signed, Topf responds with a smile and a resounding “yeah!” Rosenberg, a senior, is a bit reticent. “I’m almost done,” he admits. “But yeah, touring Europe might be cool.”

The Vox Jaguars will play at Caffe Pergolesi at 8 p.m. on Saturday, Nov. 17 at 418 Cedar St. in Santa Cruz. For more information call 426-1775. The show is free.

At the Edge of Bold Begotten Fame
Good Times Santa Cruz - Wednesday, 14 November 2007

© Good Times Santa Cruz

Rhetro Meets Mighty Mo

The city street was dark, as three young men exited a small car. The Cosmic Aeroplane was their destination... a musty bookstore, with a great record department. At the time, it was the only place in Salt Lake to get punk albums. Rhetro was planning on getting the Residents Eskimo album, while Merlin was there for a new baseball cap with a picture of an exotic Maple Leaf on it. Peck was looking for Fabulous Poodles on pink vinyl. As the car doors slammed in unison, an automobile sped past and they heard screams of agony coming from the middle of the road. It was difficult for them to see the man lying in the road. "That car hit me" he exclaimed in pain, as two high school age punk girls came running from the opposite side of the street. Everyone huddled around the man as someone scampered off to find a phone and call for help.

What no one in the scene knew, was that cosmic forces and mystical powers were hard at work to bring two people together. On the surface, (literally), a man lay helpless in the road as another young man runs to the Cosmic Aeroplane to call an ambulance, and the others stay to direct traffic and comfort the victim until help arrives.

Many years later:

Rhetro and Mighty Mo had been married for a handful of years when he relayed the above story to her. She replied, "I remember that. That was you?"

Happy 21st Anniversary sweetheart.

Skarzita's Day

When I was about four or five years old, I was having a great time throwing an old rusty dart around the yard. It was great fun to launch it high into the air, and watch it fall to the earth, and stick point first into the lawn. One of the throws arched high in the air, and over my neighbor's fence, but instead of hitting the ground, it lodged in my sister's arm.* Blood squirted from the puncture with every pump of her twelve year old heart. Unfortunately, she had to have a tetanus shot as well... adding insult to injury.

Happy Birthday Sis.

* I'm much better at throwing darts now, and even hit the target some of the time.

Dynamite & I Don't Mean Maybe

None of the other kids in the neighborhood had crates of dynamite and blasting caps in their garage... For some reason it didn't seem that strange to me. After all, my older brother of eleven years was a successful mineral collector, and explosives were simply part of his procurement of semiprecious stones. His mineral collection was as good as any I have seen both in or out of a museum. When I was about seven years old (just a tot), he taught my friend Albert and I how to make gun powder. We spent hours grinding and combining the ingredients, and when we were all done, we had a medium size peanut butter jar full of good old fashioned homemade gunpowder... just in time for the 24th of July festivities. Our family spent a lot of time vacationing in Panguitch during the summer, and found ourselves there on the 24th rather regularly. I was thrilled, and had great expectations about lighting off my jar of gunpowder. I assumed that there would be bright flash accompanied by a big boom, and the anticipation to find out grew as the evening approached. As it was getting dark, I took my jar of wonder, and placed it in the middle of the concrete walkway in front of grandma's house. I had made a hole in the top of the lid, and put a waterproof fuse through it, pushing it deep into the powdery filament. I lit the fuse, and ran back to my family who were watching from about fifty feet away. Finally, the fuse burned down, and ignited the contents, but there was no explosion, and no bright flash. Rather, the contents burned slowly, like a sparkler, and after a couple of minutes, it completely burned up, and melted the glass jar. In the morning, I picked up the melted jar and examined it. Pretty cool experiment I thought. Too bad Albert missed it.

Glass Turds @ MOMA

Last July our family went to San Francisco to celebrate Mighty Mo's birthday. A couple of weeks prior to our trip, she had done a knumber on her ACL tramping a jumpoline, and had been hobbling around on crutches since. We figured that hobbling in the big city might be a bit difficult for her, so we borrowed a wheelchair for the trip, and Mighty Mo received VIP treatment everywhere we went. We even had a special placard to hang from the rear view mirror which allowed us to park in blue zones, which we found out are few and far betwixt in San Fran. One of our activities in the big city was to go to the Museum Of Modern Art, or MOMA as it is commonly called. A world renowned museum, and home to cutting edge artistry. Some of the pieces on display were very good, however, to be honest, most of it was shit* posing as art, or 'glass turds,' as one of my artist friends calls it. The museum is very popular... and expensive. The price didn't seem to scare people away though. There were gaggles of gazers making their way through the museum, saying very little as they viewed the display of crap. It was obvious to me that most everyone was straining* hard to find the art in the barrage of visual bombardment, and as I looked down to see my daughter's face exhibiting a bewildered expression, I could see that she too was observing the people, who seemed so intrigued with the art. I bowed my head down to her level and quietly whispered in her ear, "The emperor has no clothes." She looked up at me, her face radiant with a smile of enlightenment, and said, "That's it!"

Later in the day, we went for lunch at a shishi overpriced vegetarian restaurant, and as we approached the front door, we could see where someone had squatted against the wall and sprayed fecal matter against it. I said, Look, MORE MOMA."

*"Pull the wool over your own eyes" 13013 D01313$

Firecracker Girl

Tonight fireworks will fill the night sky, but my Mighty Mo will make it beautiful. Today is her birthday, and the entire nation is celebrating.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

to my best friend.

Op Zop To Wisconsin

Midnight Masses

Holding out my drivers license and boarding pass for the security person to examine, after waiting in a long security line, and having nearly reached the front. "Sir, you need to go to that line over there, and they're going to take a closer look at you," the tired and outnumbered security woman said to me as she turned, and pointed over her right shoulder to a "special" security inspection line. "Ok, what's up?" I asked. "Your drivers license is expired, that's why you have this special stamp on your boarding pass. I looked down to find four letters S at the bottom right hand corner of my 3X8 ticket. I left my kids in line with the masses and proceeded to a line of only three "special" people... like me. "We'll meet you on the other side," Kirsten said. It was only about a thirty foot walk to the new line, and as I strolled along, I thought about what SSSS could possibly stand for. My first thought was, "Security! Security! Security! Security!... Danger Will Robinson," I laughed to myself. The old double SS had me wondering, when suddenly, I realized, "Expired drivers license... I'm not going to be able to rent a car when we get to Chicago." We had an automobile reserved at Hertz, and were planning to drive it to the Hilton where Mighty Mo was staying. I proceeded to remove my shoes, belt, glasses, wallet, keys, coins, lint balls, and etc. into the tubs provided for my convenience. My carry-on consisted of a video camera, a digital camera, and lots of cords, and cables. "That'll look cool on the X-ray," I thought to myself, as I prepared to be padded down, or "frisked," as they say on the streets on TV. After a scrutinizing search, I was allowed to pass, and arrived at our rendezvous point ahead of my family. We boarded our aeroplane, and disembarked Oakland at midnight... right on schedule.
Cosmique Aeroplane*

The red eye flight from Oakland to Chicago was crowded. Either I've become much more of a mass of Humanity than I suspected, or the seats are getting smaller every time I fly. As I looked around, I could see that others seemed more uncomfortable than myself. Some were bulging over and around their arm rests, creating impressions in their plump flesh that will probably last a goodly long time. I was in the middle seat, sitting next to strangers, so sleeping would be difficult at best. I watched the images provided for my distraction and tried to rest as much as possible. I thought about the terrorists who flew into the World Trade Center and Pentagon, and wondered if I would have been able to stop them. Would I have tried? "Probably," I thought to myself half asleep. Maybe I'd concoct a scheme where I'd claim to have a bomb, and if the terrorists didn't yield control of the aeroplane, they'd die as failures. "That's stupid" I scolded myself, motionless in my crowded seat. "I wish I could sleep." I thought about the fourth September 11 flight that went down in Pennsylvania... supposedly brought down by passengers who wrested control of the aeroplane from the terrorists and I considered that it was actually shot down to protect real estate, and heads of state, and the hero story was created to make us feel good about bringing one of our own down. "The first casualty in war is the truth", I thought to myself. "If I would shut up, I could get some sleep." I started counting sheep, and began analyzing why that would help a person fall asleep. I considered that even though the eyes are closed, they still respond in motion to the little sheep jumping over a fence. The motion of the eye watching the sheep jump is similar to REM... "Are we there yet?"

Chicago Automobile Adventure

It was already muggy when the doors opened. "Chicago" I thought to myself as I tasted the air. The corridor was cool and refreshing, and provided needed space that I had missed the previous four hours cooped up in a pressurized cylinder. We proceeded to turnstile number one to wait for our luggage. When the conveyor belt started up, our luggage was the first to appear. Perhaps another side effect of the SSSS stamp. Perhaps it pays to be suspicious. Cabs were lined up waiting for customers. We must have been the first, and our cabby drove as if he was still asleep... or something. After a somewhat terrifying ride from the aeroport, we arrived at the Hilton where we met up with Mighty Mo,** had a joyous reunion, ordered breakfast from room service, then napped for an hour or so. As we slumbered, Mighty Mo rented a car for us to use, and she would be doing all the driving on our trip.

Das Booten

Lunch was next on the agenda, and we only had a few minutes to get there. We had reservations on a large luxury liner called the Odyssey, and arrived just in time - they were already pulling back the walkway. Had we been even seconds later, we would have missed our boat, and lunch which was already paid for. We set sail, had a wonderful lunch whilst we listened to some great live jazz, Chicago style, and cruised around Lake Michigan, enjoying a boat's eye view of the windy city. Very cool! We docked, and set out for our next destination, the Museum of Science and Industry. There was one reason I was going there. Leviathan! The museum was home to U-505, one of the only surviving German U-Boats... and I was going to board her. We found the museum, paid another twelve dollars for parking, paid for admittance, and began exploring. Finally, there it was, large and looming and bigger than I had imagined. "Oh, my goodness," I said, imitating Chief Wompem Stompem. A descending walkway continued around the boat until we arrived at the guided tour portion of our experience. As we entered the boat, I was astonished by the quantity of valves, gauges, switches, knobs, and levers. Our guide was informative and theatrical. Sound effects enhanced her presentation. At one point, the lights were turned off, and a subtle dim red glow illuminated the interior of the sub. As I stood there in partial darkness, like Jonah in the belly of the whale pondering the fate of Nineva, my mind began putting things into perspective. I was inside a German U-Boat... a ship built with slave labour, designed to sink ships, and kill people. I thought of all the suffering this ship, and others like it had caused. From work conditions in the labour camps to the hundreds of sunken ships, the needless loss of life, and lingering pollution of our oceans. So much energy going into a vehicle of destruction... what a waste... what a shame.***

Lake Geneva Luncheon

After a good night sleep in Schaumburg, IL, we were off again. Our destination, Madison Wisconsin. The Illinois landscape is flat, predictable, and pretty much uninteresting for the most part. No surprises, lots of suburban sprawl, which fades into farmland as we get further from the city. Toward the northern border of Illinois, the landscape begins to change. As we traveled, we began see beautiful rolling green hills with farms scattered across the landscape. An official sign welcomed us to Wisconsin, as we listened to Op Zop Too Wah all the way to Lake Geneva where we stopped for lunch. It had been sixteen years since I had last rolled through these streets. Lake Geneva seemed like someplace I had never been, and to think that at one time, I knew the town fairly well. The water looked refreshing as children jumped off the end of the dock. None of us were accustomed to heat or humidity, and even though it was cool for the locals, it was warm for surf town softies like us. Across the street I spied a guy wearing a red Discipline t-shirt. "Hey, look at that shirt," I said pointing to the fellow walking by the lake. "Maybe he'll sell it to you," Mason said. Maybe he'll trade me for this one," referring to my by now somewhat smelly Bonny Doon Vineyard T. We watched out the large front window of the restaurant as a variety of characters strolled by. Nice entertainment.

Grain Silos and Missile Silos

We decided that rather than taking the interstate highway, we'd wind our way through the quaint farming communities instead. I found great pleasure observing all of the different grain silos, and remembered that I had always wanted to live in one. It reminded me of a program that had been shown on the flight,**** which featured a couple of people who now live in a decommissioned missile silo. "Lucky bastards," I laughed to myself as we rolled down the road. All of the little towns were so different from how I remembered them. Again surprised how much had changed, and how little I recognized. Before we knew it, we were in Madison, and again, everything was different. Immediately, we drove to where we had lived, and took a photo of Mason standing in front of his first home. He had been born in Madison seventeen years ago, and we moved away when he was still very young. None of us had been there for many years, and now we were back for family vacation. Across Lake Monona, we could see the capitol building towering above everything around it. "I've missed you, Madison," I said out loud. I had tuned the radio to my old favorite station, 89.9, listener supported, WORT Madison, who immediately played one of my old favorite songs, "Totally Wired" by the Fall. We all sang, "T-t-t-totally wired" as we passed beneath the new Frank Lloyd Wright designed, Monona Terrace, bouncing to the beat in our seats, making our way through the streets. I felt like I was home.

Fireflies, Flying Discs, and Bicycles

Next day, I was off to meet my friend Rami for a round of Disc Golf. We arranged to meet at the course, and he showed up right on time. It was a bit windy, and I wasn't familiar with the course, but had a fairly good round anyway, and it was good to see Rami who had moved from Santa Cruz to Madison several years prior. Later Mason and I rented bicycles, and set out for a long adventure. We rode all the way around Lake Monona, through once-familiar neighborhoods, and back to State Street for some good Nepali food. Before we knew it, darkness had fallen upon us, and Mason said, "Hey, fireflies." I had forgotten all about these beautiful little creatures of the night, and even though Mason had no memory of ever seeing one, he immediately recognized them. What a pleasant surprise to see them dance and sparkle so magically in the thick, dark air. We arrived back at the hotel tired and exhausted. Everyone was too tired to go anyplace, or do anything, so after a refreshing shower it was TV time. Turn on - tune in - veg out... crash out...

Bus Adventure

The bus was late... at least as far as we could tell. Beginning to question if a bus would come to such a remote location on a Sunday Morning, I spotted an older woman approaching. "Ill bet she's coming to the bus stop," I said to myself. And just as I had predicted, she stopped and confirmed that "Honey, a bus will be arriving soon." A few more minutes passed, and the bus rounded the corner, pulled up next to us, and with a loud release of air, stopped. We loaded our rented bicycles on the front of the bus, boarded, paid the driver three bucks, and took our seats. Riding the bus is always such an interesting experience. Before long, we arrived downtown, signaled the driver to stop at the next opportunity. He pulled over near the state capitol building... we exited, grabbed our bikes and whisked down the hill to the rental shop to return the bikes.

Epilogue

Before I knew it, we were leaving with so many things undone.***** I was finally becoming familiar with the city again, and now it was time to go. "Good bye, Madison," I said sadly as the city disappeared behind a shroud of green canopy. "I'll be back."

* Or Cosmic Aeroplane, also, El Cosmico Aero-plano, as spoken by Brad Collins of KRCL infamy

** Mighty Mo had been in Chicago on business a few days already when we arrived.

*** I had a similar experience at an aircraft museum a couple of years ago.

****I watched it without sound. They showed the same program on our return flight.

***** Pancho Steinberg's Fine Mexican Cuisine in Platteville, the Dickyville Grotto, Indian Mounds, lead mines the mighty Mississippi and etc... I can't wait to return.