RIP

Nightly news has died. Woe is Ted.

One of the last remaining respectable network news personalities has just jumped ship. Mr. Comb-Over himself (I wonder if Koppel and Donald Trump have ever been photographed next to each other?....this will be investigated...) will be with ABC's Nightline only 8 precious more months. A sad day. The only thing keeping me going is the fact that we still have Peter Jennings. And he's probably not far behind Ted.

Excerpted from the Washington Post today:

"Ted Koppel said today he is leaving ABC News, ending a 42-year career and a quarter-century run as host of "Nightline," because he does not want to do a live hour-long program, as the network is planning.

Koppel's planned departure accelerates a generational passing of superstar anchors in which NBC's Tom Brokaw, 64, and CBS's Dan Rather, 73, have also stepped down in the past four months. Koppel said he and Bettag are exploring other media ventures but that they would not be working with ABC."

I feel like all the trusting faces I have looked into the eyes of since I started watching television 22 years ago or so are fading into the haze. I feel anxious. I don't think networks even want to pursue the whole "anchor" concept like they have in the past. They just want someone yelling on camera and flashy banners flying across the screen. A rotating contingent of hopeful journalist/models/prognosticators/loudmouths/tiresome oafs will likely flavor our television news diets even more so in the near future than now.

Scary thought.

Looking closer

And me I'm in my bedroom
Drawing in my notebook
Cause my hand thinks I'm an artist

No Cadbury eggs for you!

Night walkin'

I was on another night walk tonight. Nothing terribly exciting to report, though - no armored men or bunny-suited people types.

Anyway, I have resolved that my favorite tree is at 5905 Claremont Avenue. It's this very strange type of fir tree as far as a can tell. Some type of ornamental variety that I will try to find out the name of the next time I come across a tree identification book.

Another urban wonder: the Pedestrian walkway that goes through people's homes on Claremont Avenue - it picks up pretty much across the street, maybe a block up or down from the tree mentioned above. I recommend it if you like to wander through semi-private property.

Hmmm, what a terribly mediocre web log entry. Apologies.

Yes, body armor. Not just for Henry VIII, it's the newest thing in Berkeley.

Under the 24, there are men in armor

Last night, with the full moon (or fullish moon) out, I took a stroll through my neighborhood. I'd just enjoyed a nice day out in the Russian River Valley doing some much-needed wine tasting and taking in some rather breath-taking scenery of Sonoma County. So after we got home, I felt somewhat woozy and needed to get some light exercise to wake me up.

About a mile from my house is where Highway 24 goes through Rockridge on an elevated overpass. I was walking somewhat underneath that overpass where there is currently a parking lot and some open gravely areas. Suddenly, I heard the garrish sound of metal on metal. Let me correct that: sharp, heavy metal on sharp, heavy metal. I kind of looked around, confused, partly because 1) this is BERKELEY, and nothing so severe sounding usually happens here and 2) that's just not a normal thing to hear no matter where you are. It startled me.

I looked to my left, near the gravely parking lot area, and there I saw them: a troupe of maybe 10 armored men, looking very adorned and regal, in horned helmets and chain mail - some in full-plate body armor. There were shields, too. Swords about 4 feet long and 50 pounds a piece. The group looked like they just clocked out from a long day at the local renaissance festival, to be quite honest. A few minutes of observation led me to believe they were practicing their swordplay (for what, though?) in some type of tournament structure. So many questions came to me. Why tonight, of all nights? Why under the 24? Is this illegal? Do the neighbors complain? Who ARE THESE PEOPLE?

Then it hit me - it's Berkeley. People are weird and into strange recreation here. So I shrugged my shoulders, and kept moving ahead.

I need to be carrying around my camera at all times. There's great material to be had. Almost as good as the time I saw a man in a full-on white bunny suit drinking out of a paper bag in Berkeley on a Tuesday morning in the park on Hillegass Avenue.

No, this isn't me. I wish.

What I've learned about surfing...from not surfing

This blog is on special report from the sunny beaches of Santa Monica, CA. I came down here on Friday with the intention of doing three straight days of surfing lessons. Today SHOULD have been my third day out. Sadly, there has been no in-water time. But there has been instruction. In fact, despite the fact my toes have not touched the water, I have learned an incredible amount from resident surf lady, Mary.

Mary is a great person to talk to if you can find a way to schedule three surf lessons that will be cancelled. She hung out with me for about 4 hours total over the last 2 days. We putz around the beach, talking to emerging, waterlogged surfers who just laugh and shake their heads at the conditions out there. Today we talked about the anomolies of public administration, the difficulty of working as a contractor for the city, the implications of the living wage ordinance on her business this summer, and a host of other rather interesting topics that city planners like to push around whilst on vacation.

Back to the beach: Conditions from the beach don't look that bad to the novice. But I guess when waves are coming in EVERY five seconds, nonstop, it's not good for beginners. It's not good for the experienced surfers, either. According to Mary, it's nearly impossible to "get to the outside" with a wave interval cycle like we've been seeing. The "outside" is the place just past where the waves aren't breaking. Surfers paddle out to get to the outside, then find a good wave to ride in to the inside, as far as I can tell. But conditions lately are such that getting to the outside is an almost impossible feat.

Today we watched a big guy, Steve, get pummeled by "maytags". Mary said that he usually has no trouble barreling through to the outside, but not today, apparently. Steve emerged, all 6"2 and 225 pounds of him, looking rather solemn. He said I'd be smarter to wait it out as a first-timer.

So I will meet Mary tomorrow at another location, Manhattan Beach, for a last go at it. She's positive that it will happen. I would like it to happen, too, especially since I've told a bunch of people that I am doing these lessons. They will ask me about it when I return, inevitably, and right now I have no material to talk about.

More about the Los Angeles trip to come...

Playin' opossum

It likes to play dead

Everytime I change the water in my fish's bowl, it goes through some strange phase where it plays dead for a day. Upon closer observation, I am guessing that the change of the water makes its swim bladder react strangely. It almost acts like it can't emerge itself below the surface - like there's air inside of it making it rise to the surface against its will. It usually gives up and just floats at the top, like this picture depicts. It's kind of creepy, but lately I've gotten used to it.

Oh, sure, no problem...

Today I was at the Doe Library, which is the undergraduate and "main" library at the University of CA - Berkeley. I don't normally go there, but when I am doing research for papers, I inevitably have to go to Doe for journal articles that are not housed at our library for planning and architecture.

I got there and realized I needed to look up a call number at the computer terminals outside of the main stacks entrance. While I was logging on I heared this nagging, plaintive voice behind me. Usually I ignore such voices because responding to them usually results in trouble. So I ignored her. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. So I was left with little else to do than give her my ear.

Let me preface this by informing the reader of the policy governing Internet access at these open computer terminals. Anyone (student, citizen, illegal alien, anyone) can access the electronic card catalog without a login prompt. However, if you want unrestricted Internet access (which is a service that could be ABUSED if left to the honor system) you need a student ID and a passphrase. It is my understanding that because this service requires a password, it is something the University wishes to confer to paying students only if it can help it.

This is what the nagging voice said: "Yeah, so this woman over there in the chair said she can't get me logged on because she is a staff member here, so if you'll just log me on then I can get on the Internet."

Me: "Huh?" (all the while knowing exactly what this nagging voice wanted)

Nagging voice: "Just go over there and log on so I can use the Internet. Don't worry, you can log in at another computer terminal at the same time. I am over there at that computer, so just follow me."

Me: "I don't understand. What do you want me to do?" (all the while knowing exactly what this nagging voice wanted. I was hoping she'd give up on me)

Nagging voice (persistently now, and somewhat irritated at my reluctant, ignorant attitude): "Log me on using you student ID. Don't worry, I won't write it down."

Me: (Irritated that this woman cannot understand WHY I am reticient. Basically, because she didn't even ask me. She approached me as if it were an assigned duty of us students to give her free Internet. Internet that I pay for through exorbitant fees. Fees that go up by 10% every year or something).

I should have just left this freerider at her computer terminal, but to be quite honest I felt like she would follow me to the stacks. Now that I think about it, you need to flash a student ID to get past the gatekeeper to the stacks, so I should have really just resisted her nagging and let her get stopped by the gatekeeper.

Almost callously, I logged her on, and walked past her without even saying "Ok."

People in Berkeley, please pay heed: You need to be at least a TAD more tactful and pleasant if you want to freeride on the University system's Internet facilities. Really. And please, if at all possible, groom a bit before using our computer and library services.

Consumption update

A few months ago I reported about the various things I was eating. Thus proceeds an update.

1. Makers Mark Whiskey with maraschino cherry, splash of soda water & an orange slice
2. Entirely too much cottage cheese
3. Entirely too much tuna fish
4. Two "small plates" meals at upscale dining establishments in San Francisco and Rockridge, leaving me somewhat still very hungry afterwards...
5. Chocolate chip ice cream, unpremium, purchased in the form of a cardboard brick
6. Fuji apples
7. Golden raisins
8. Entirely too much yogurt
9. Bell peppers (they're cheap at Berkeley Bowl, $1/lb)
10. Americanos from Strada on Bancroft Avenue (7-10 per week, it's getting to be bad)

The following itemization of what is going in my mouth leaves me somewhat discouraged about the prospects of attaining an improved physique. Since I am not able to exercise very much do to the constraints on my time from school, proper eating is probably the only thing I can do (and not do, more precisely) that will have much of an impact at this point.

Suggestions? What are you eating?

Stroller parking

This evening, as my roommate and I were rambling along towards the greater reaches of the neighborhood of Rockridge, we were witness to some strange goings-ons. Someone had posted on the side of a building right on College Avenue one of those fake public signs that informatively stated, "Stroller Parking". It was very much along the lines of those "Baby on Board" suction cup signs for rear car windows that were so popular in 1987 thereabouts.

Anyway, what was most disturbing about this public signage was that although it looked liked it had been there for quite some time it was in pristine condition: no wads of gum on it, no explicit scribblings detesting the idea of stroller parking, not even a scuff mark. To be frank, if I'd had a permanent Sharpie marker on hand at that moment, I would have assuredly gone to work on that sign - perhaps communicating a message like those below:

Explicity NO
(Stroller Parking)
Ever Allowed

or this:

(Stroller Parking)
Prohibited. Social Services
Will Be Notified

or maybe:

(Stroller Parking) Will

Result in Fines, Public Beatings,
and Confiscated Children

I could go on and on. Anyway, it soon became apparent to me that this neighborhood LIVES for the idea of stroller parking. Strollers are actually more tolerated in Rockridge than anywhere else I guess. You can probably figure out by now that I don't like strollers. I like kids somewhat, but strollers are a whole other story. I have no trouble with pushchairs - those very simple models that are essentially a cloth bucket seat with some wheels. But the strollers of present day have become all too large and complicated and they simply aren't designed for narrow sidewalks. Modern strollers have evolved at the same proportions as the SUV. They should be banned and parents should start carrying their children around in their arms like the rest of the world does - either that or leave them at home.

We also saw some cool things - the Diesel Bookstore, some nice diners, etc.

Happy Birthday, Mom

Today is my mother's 58th birthday. I called her today from school, only to get her voicemail. So I left a message. It should be noted that her voicemail recording STILL is the voice of my stepdad, Bruce, who says very sternly, "You've reached the voicemail of Sandra ____. She is occupied at the moment, but if you leave her a message, she will call you back very soon." You'd think that if my mother can succesfully dial in to retrieve her voicemail, she'd be technically capable of recording her own greeting. Go figure, right?

Anyway, back to the birthday greeting...Well, it was sort of short and awkward because I truly would rather tell her in person, not in a message as so directed by my stepdad.

But I am truly thankful to still be able to even do that... and to have as truly great a woman like Sandra ____ as my mother. Happy 58, Mom.

How did this get in my house??

I live on the mezzanine level of Nordstrom

As of late, strange rhythmic piano music has been pulsating from my roommate's bedroom, usually in the hours after midnight. This whole musical pattern came on very suddenly, almost like a fever in the night, and its recurrance has plagued this Bateman Street household for no less than a fortnight.

It's almost like living at Cafe Nordstrom. You know, that distinct locus inside Nordstrom where the grand piano is being somberly played to induce shoppers into thinking, "What the hell, it's only $279, I make that in a day and a half playing an automaton at the office. I deserve this for all my hard work."

This whole scenario makes me half expect the guy to come out of his room in a smoking jacket holding a glass or port (well, it would probably be a plastic tumbler in this case). My only question is this: Where are the lattes, delicate Madeline cookies, blueberry encrusted scones, and richly drawn macchiatos? They are certainly not in that room (dare I say chamber of darkness?), that is for damn sure.

We were wondering why the music suddenly appeared. We are convinced it is due to the interest of some woman or girl. Most likely a girl. However, we are reticent to investigate this matter any further for fear of what might be found.

So, for now my dear readers, it's Cafe Nordstrom (sans edible baked treats and the luxurious smell of expensive fine-grained leather wafting from the handbag department nearby) on Bateman Street.

another

nervous with good reason
nervous with no good reason

My little sister wants to join the police academy

Yes, folks, people still join to police force. It seems kind of crazy to me.

But I guess we need police out there. And preferably college educated ones. However, the more training you give the police squad to be analytical and critical about what's going on in the world, the more difficult it will probably be to get them to respond to orders. That said, I am still not terribly pleased about this news coming from sis, but she's young and it is likely that this will be just one of the many turns in the road for her. I mean, just this summer she wanted to take up forensic photography. Before that, she wanted to be an artist. Who knows what this summer will bring? At least she's got some interesting ideas on her plate. It could be much worse. She could want to work in Human Resources or climb up the data entry ladder.

She's already formed some pretty harsh views about jail administration, according to what she told me last time we talked. She seems to think that city planners are responsible for the unsavory internal management, sanitation, and funding condundra found at the Multnomah County lock up. I tried to convince her otherwise, but she is sort of at an age where she doesn't care what I say. And this despite the fact that I am a student of city planning.

I should send her the series of Police Academy movies. I am quite certain she hasn't seen them. Maybe Steve Gutenberg's tragic performance will cast doubt on this whole scheme.

True in 1995, true today

my headphones
they saved my life

Note to self

The last three entries reveal my boorish affectation as of late. I will attempt to be more cheerful and insightful after this weekend. I truly will. My land use law midterm (which will occupy a great part of this weekend) may inspire one last negatively-charged posting. Readers beware. However, after that is turned in to Fred Etzel, things may brighten up considerably.

Ah, the weekend awaits (oh...that)

It's one thing when the weekend approaches and you can anticipate the splash and antics of an unplanned, spontaneous two day break, wide-open to your whim and fancy. Maybe you'll wake up and hit your favorite breakfast spot - beating the crowd that always seems to show up on cue. Or maybe you'll pass on brunch and just sleep in until 11:45, or even 1:45. Perhaps you'll take a drive or go have a leisurely outing with a friend, or, better yet, that someone special. Ah.

It's quite another thing when by the Tuesday before you already have every hour of your weekend allocated out to completing various tedious, stressful, and challenging tasks. There is no buildup for the end of the week - only a prolonged whine of what's to come. Clearly, these are weekends to loathe. They might as well not even be counted for weekends. It's just Monday and Tuesday repeating themselves prematurely. Alas, this weekend will be one of these kinds for me. It's very depressing. And, what's more, next weekend is not looking altogether much brighter. To add insult to injury, there is a party or two I might have to pass up due to my academic obligations.

Well, off to bed, I need rest for task #1 which will begin promptly tomorrow morning at 9:10 am and will last until 4:00 pm, involving complex computer mapping software applications, guest speakers, and fiscal impact of public service provision problem sets.

I need to remember my coffee money tomorrow, for certain.