RIP Earthworm

I'm sitting on the bench at the bus stop right now and there has been a massacre of epic proportions, or maybe a mass suicide, I can't tell.



Thousands of earth worms have crawled out of the grass and have stranded themselves on the sidewalk.



Approaching the scene I saw them littered along the sidewalk, at first confusing them with just plant matter but upon a secondary inspection realizing that they were dead soldiers on a battlefield of cement.



Amongst the thousands I saw just one still writhing. Threshing about amongst all his dead brethren. I was able to do my part and flick him back into the grass but upon realizing that none of the worms had seemed to want to be in the grass-having apparently fled in such massive numbers-I was left to wonder whether I was doing more harm then good.



I krept away after watching the survivor squirm under a blade of grass, careful not to disturb the dead. I was careful too, I didn't step on one worm as I picked my way through the scene.



Now as I sit here on this bench I have to wonder: Where are all the birds? This should be their Saturday morning buffet.

Escape From the Planet of the Apes

This is the follow up to one of my favorite movies of all time. I love the apes.

"Don't trust anyone over 30"

Honestly, if you ever see this scheduled on TCM then you'd better TiVo it so you can watch it because it's a good one.

Indy

My friend Indy is great, but he's kind of a pussy because he can't stand snakes.

Flannery O'Connor

I walked over to the bookstore today, across Sunflower and over the 'Unity Bridge' (has to be the gayest name for a bridge ever, not that there is anything wrong with that-vote no on 8) past the Rolex display case that had a new watch in it with a walnut face and all diamond dial that I will buy one day and into the bookstore.



I took the escalator up to the second floor and went straight to the V's to re-read 'God Bless you Dr. Kevorkian' but upon pulling it out I thought better of it and put it back.



Do you know what the brushes on escalators are for? I do now. It was on the today show but that's not where I found out about it. I learnt it from a book.



After putting 'God Bless You ...' back in its place I went to the O's and pulled from the shelves 'Everything That Rises Must Converge'.



I took it to an empty desk I found and started to read the introduction. I quickly learnt that though her stories are some of my favorites I couldn't give two shits about Flannery's life story. So i turned to the first page of the book, page 1.

My Life

The Game came out with this rap song a couple weeks (months?) ago and though I hate Lil' Wayne, the Game has some pretty good lyrics.

Amongst my favorites--especially to sing out in the lineup--is "We are not the same, I am a martian; So approach my phantom doors with caution."

You know what I like about The Game? He goes there. He was arrested for pulling out a gun at a pick-up basketball game in longbeach. Now most of you literaties out there who might be reading this blog for my insightful literary reviews will probably scoff at that as "low" or "detestable" but I ask of you: What is the difference between that and a Cowboy pulling out a revolver during a poker game in the 1880's? We all laud over Val fucking Kilmer because he's a cowboy, and cheer kids on when they choose to be the cowboy in cowboy and indians games but a black man does this now and it is despicable.

More old west style regulation I say.

Reminds me of a point I heard my grandpa make. He said that the reason chivalry and conduct was so important two centuries ago was because everyone was capable of carrying firearms and at any time you could be put into place by a Colt revolver if you stepped out of line--so people didn't.

Back Again

I am back yo.

I guess it is only applicable that I do the usual 20th century lit ball washing and get down to business telling you all how much I enjoyed "Hocus Pocus" just now. Kurt did a good one this time. It is a light read and I think I will need to read it again but for now I recommend it to be read and check back soon for whenever I re-read it so I can give some actual insight into it--or, never mind, you guys probably aren't looking for my insight so I will end this all with this: read "Hocus Pocus" by Kurt Vonnegut, it is worth it.

Delusions of granduer

Come on, just cause I get five people a day reading this thing I'm now thinking I'm hot shit. What a good writer I am. Well, thanks to all you five people. I'm sure not one of you is into the rap element of this blog so right here and right now, I promise to put up a post with another youtube video of another rap song--just to alienate you all just a little more.

If its any consolation, my girlfriend thinks I'm full of shit too and hates that I love rap music.

Me and Richard Parker

The thing about this book is that on the cover it has reviews by many publications and more than one cites the book as a fantastic defense of zoos and I can't help but think that the reviewers completely missed the boat (no pun intended for those who have read the book) on what this book is about. It is a deep look into the world of religion and the practicalities of a world where exposure to every religion known to man from here to almost eternity. Deeply metaphysical this book is an unbelievable read that kept me interested until the very end upon which I was left scratching my head trying to contemplate the questions evoked by the author.
I highly suggest you run out right now--it is only 10 pm as I write this and I know Barnes and Noble is still open for another hour--and buy this book and begin reading it and do whatever it takes to avoid the trappings of merely taking the story of face value as those so wrong reviewers did and delve into the metaphorical. Yann wrote a masterpiece for us readers and he deserves the courtesy and respect that we should read the book and try to understand at least all that he meant for us to and hopefully more than that.

You can expect some more entries on this book in a little while. Read it and wait for my oh-so-intelligent-wannabe-literate writings about it as I finish The Cave by Jose Saramago (I know, I started that book a couple month ago but I got sidetracked by that hoosier Kurt and his great book Timequake.).

More ballwashing for Kurt.

A little more ballwashing but I promise tomorrow I will have a new book to tell you all about from a new author, it is a really good one and couldn't get the pictures to upload via my blackberry so I had to save it until I got home and I am home now but this little excerpt from the book I just finished for the second time around seemed for some reason very appropriate to my mood.



"At ten o'clock the old, long-out-of-print science fiction writer announced it was his bedtime. There was one last thing he wanted to say to us, to his family. Like a magician seeking a volunteer from the audience, he asked someone to stand beside him and do what he said. I held up my hand. "Me, please, me," I said.

The crowd fell quiet as I took my place to his right.

"The universe has expanded so enormously," he said, "with the exception of the minor glitch it put us through, that light is no longer fast enough to make any trips worth taking in even the most unreasonable lengths of time. Once the fastest thing possible, they say, light now belongs in the graveyard of history, like the Pony Express.

"I now ask this human being brave enough to stand next to me to pick two twinkling points of obsolete light in the sky above us. It doesn't matter what they are, except that they must twinkle. If they don't twinkle, they are either planets or satellites. Tonight we are not interested in planets or satellites."

I picked two points of light maybe ten feet apart. One was Polaris. I have no idea what the other one was. For all I knew, it was Puke, Trout's star the size of a BB.

"Do they twinkle?" he said.

"Yes they do," I said.

"Promise?" he said.

"Cross my heart," I said.

"Excellent! Ting-a-ling!" he said. "Now then: Whatever heavenly bodies those two glints represent, it is certain that for light to go from one to the other would take thousands or millions of years. Ting-a-ling? But I now ask you to look precisely at one, and then precisely at the other."

"Ok," I said, "I did it."

"It took a second, do you think?" he said.

"No more," I said.

"Even if you'd taken an hour," he said, "something would have passed between where those two heavenly bodies used to be, at, conservatively speaking, a million times the speed of light."

"What was it?" I said.

"Your awareness," he said. "that is a new quality in the Universe, which exists only because there are human beings. Physicists must from now on, when pondering the secrets of the Cosmos, factor in not only energy and matter and time, but something very new and beautiful, which is human awareness."

Trout paused, ensuring with the ball of his left thumb that his upper dental plate would not slip when he said his last words to us that enchanted evening.

All was well with his teeth. This was his finale: "I have thought of a better word than awareness," he said. "Let us call it soul." He paused." (excerpt from Timequake by Kurt Vonnegut [pg241-242])

Deep huh?

My favorite movie ...

of all time I think.

Captain Nemo and the Underwater City

Note: Right click on the different parts and open them in a new window for the best viewing.

Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11

Jeremy is a reefer addict

Jeremy is a reefer addict. The year is two thousand and eight anno domini and no one calls marijuana reefer anymore, but whatever you call it, Jeremy is addicted to it. Jeremy, like all other humans, has a great big brain full of neurons and chemicals that is capable of producing wonderfully complicated thoughts. In fact, Jeremy's brain is so sophisticated that even though he lives in the age of electronic wisdom, his brain--just like every other humans--is capable of putting to shame anything a silicon chip thinks it might be hot shit for being able to do.

An example: just by looking at a picture of a scantily clad lady laying on the beach he can instantly recognize exactly which supermodel she is and can immediately respond with the thought "I want to have sex with her." Let's see a silicon chip do that.

It's this big brain of his though that keeps him smoking reefer. You see, Jeremy is prone--just like every other human being--to deep complicated thoughts. The problem lies in the fact that Jeremy can't for the life of him figure out what good these thoughts are. Sure Galileo and Newton and Pythagoras had the same sort of complicated thoughts, but Jeremy's brain isn't thinking about celestial bodies or hypothetical mathematics, rather, Jeremy's big huge brain is constantly pestering him with ideas such as "Why am I here?", or "Why am I doing this?", or the big kicker of them all, "What does this all lead to?".

You see, the problem is, these thoughts are just as annoying as they are dangerous. People around the world have gotten into lots of trouble, for themselves and others, just because they were born with their own personal big brain inside their heads. The shame is that these people more often then not have too much thinking capacity and often get themselves into trouble simply by thinking too much. Not Jeremy, he's no fool. Sure he might indulge in the rare philosophical thought but rather than be swept away by them he simply chooses to hit the off switch and indulge instead in the sweet numbness that something as simple as plant leaves encased in tissue paper can offer.

Jeremy is as happy as can be keeping himself protected from the damage that the overindulgence of that big brain of his can inflict. Rather, he keeps his brain firing on half of it's cylinders and wanders through life comfortably numb to the complications of the world and as happy as a lark.

What Kurt Did ...

Kurt is somewhere up in heaven having a blast right now. What he did was more than write; what he did was--through all the words and sentences he strung together--to define what it is to be human. It took him his whole life, but through his stories and novels a reader can begin to conceptualize what it is to be human. I have yet to encounter any author who has been able to so clearly and concisely tackle the subject of being alive. All of life's little ironies and contradictions are innumerable, and yet, Kurt was able to see many of these and through his clunky old typewriter help anyone who happened to read what he wrote to begin to conceive just exactly why they were here on this great earth.

I know it is such a great terrible tragedy to be "po-mo" but I offer you this little piece of advice and hope that you take it, no matter how hipster it may seem: read anything by Kurt Vonnegut, it will make you feel so much better about being a human being.

In the process of defining what it is to be human, Kurt achieves one of his greatest accomplishments--or at least what I will consider his greatest accomplishment. You see, through Kurt's writing he relishes what it is to be a person in this world and breaks down to the very core our existence in this modern era. We no longer live in the world of Shakespeare or Aristotle; we live in the world of Vonnegut. This new world we have invented for ourselves seems ever more difficult for us to find a place in it and though this great author clearly views our present human condition with disdain, make no mistake that his sympathy is with us.

His legacy will live forever as the man who has helped a whole new era of people discover themselves and their place in this world; and he made us laugh the whole way through.

Thank you Kurt.

For you Mr. President

As we all know, my friend John is a bad ass. This one goes out to you GW and a big middle finger to your latest and greatest proposition.

"

It is impossible to overestimate the value of wild mountains and mountain temples as places for people to grow in, recreation grounds for soul and body. They are the greatest of our natural resources, God's best gifts, but none, however high and holy, is beyond reach of the spoiler. In these ravaging money-mad days monopolizing San Francisco capitalists are now doing their best to destroy the Yosemite Park, the most wonderful of all our great mountain national parks. Beginning on the Tuolumne side, they are trying with a lot of sinful ingenuity to get the Government's permission to dam and destroy the Hetch-Hetchy Valley for a reservoir, simply that comparatively private gain may be made out of universal public loss, while of course the Sierra Club is doing all it can to save the valley. The Honorable Secretary of the Interior has not yet announced his decision in the case, but in all that has come and gone nothing discouraging is yet in sight on our side of the fight.

As long as the busy public in general knew little or nothing about the Hetch-Hetchy Valley, the few cunning drivers of the damming scheme, working in darkness like moles in a low-lying meadow, seemed confident of success; but when light was turned on and the truth became manifest that next to Yosemite, Hetch-Hetchy is the most wonderful and most important feature of the great park, that damming it would destroy it, render it inaccessible, and block the way through the wonderful Tuolumne Cañon to the grand central campground in the upper Tuolumne Valley, thousands from near and far came to our help, -- mountaineers, nature-lovers, naturalists. Most of our thousand club members wrote to the President or Secretary protesting against the destructive reservoir scheme while other sources of city water as pure or purer than the Hetch-Hetchy were available; so also did the Oregon and Washington mountaineering clubs and the Appalachian of Boston and public-spirited citizens everywhere. And the President, recognizing the need of beauty as well as bread and water in the life of the nation, far from favoring the destruction of any of our country's natural wonder parks and temples, is trying amid a host of other cares to save them all. Within a very short time he has saved the petrified forests of Arizona and the Grand Cañon, and in our own State the jagged peaks of San Benito county known as "The Pinnacles," making them national monuments or parks to be preserved for the people forever. None, therefore, need doubt that everything possible will be done to save Hetch-Hetchy.

After my first visit, in the autumn of 1871, I have always called it the Tuolumne Yosemite, for it is a wonderfully exact counterpart of the great Yosemite, not only in its crystal river and sublime rocks and waterfalls, but in the gardens, groves, and meadows of its flower park-like floor. The floor of Yosemite is about 4,000 feet above the sea, the Hetch -Hetchy floor about 3,700; the walls of both are of gray granite, rise abruptly out of the flowery grass and groves are sculptured in the same style, and in both every rock is a glacial monument.

Standing boldly out from the south wall is a strikingly picturesque rock called "Kolana" by the Indians, the outermost of a group 2300 feet high, corresponding with the Cathedral Rocks of Yosemite both in relative position and form. On the opposite side of the Valley, facing Kolana, there is a counterpart of the El Capitan of Yosemite rising sheer and plain to a height of 1800 feet, and over its massive brow flows a stream which makes the most graceful fall I have ever seen. From the edge of the cliff it is perfectly free in the air for a thousand feet, then breaks up into a ragged sheet of cascades among the boulders of an earthquake talus. It is in all its glory in June, when the snow is melting fast, but fades and vanishes toward the end of summer. The only fall I know with which it may fairly be compared is the Yosemite Bridal Veil; but it excels even that favorite fall both in height and fineness of fairy-airy beauty and behavior. Lowlanders are apt to suppose that mountain streams in their wild career over cliffs lose control of themselves and tumble in a noisy chaos of mist and spray. On the contrary, on no part of their travels are they more harmonious and self-controlled. Imagine yourself in Hetch Hetchy on a sunny day in June, standing waist-deep in grass and flowers (as I have oftentimes stood), while the great pines sway dreamily with scarce perceptible motion. Looking northward across the Valley you see a plain, gray granite cliff rising abruptly out of the gardens and groves to a height of 1800 feet, and in front of it Tueeulala's silvery scarf burning with irised sun-fire in every fiber. In the first white outburst of the stream at the head of the fall there is abundance of visible energy, but it is speedily hushed and concealed in divine repose, and its tranquil progress to the base of the cliff is like that of downy feathers in a still room. Now observe the fineness and marvelous distinctness of the various sun-illumined fabrics into which the water is woven; they sift and float from form to form down the face of that grand gray rock in so leisurely and unconfused a manner that you can examine their texture, and patterns and tones of color as you would a piece of embroidery held in the hand. Near the head of the fall you see groups of booming, comet-like masses, their solid, white heads separate, their tails like combed silk interlacing among delicate shadows, ever forming and dissolving, worn out by friction in their rush through the air. Most of these vanish a few hundred feet below the summit, changing to the varied forms of cloud-like drapery. Near the bottom the width of the fall has increased from about twenty-five to a hundred feet. Here it is composed of yet finer tissues, and is still without a trace of disorder -- air, water and sunlight woven into stuff that spirits might wear.

So fine a fall might well seem sufficient to glorify any valley; but here, as in Yosemite, Nature seems in nowise moderate, for a short distance to the eastward of Tueeulala booms and thunders the great Hetch Hetchy Fall, Wapama, so near that you have both of them in full view from the same standpoint. It is the counterpart of the Yosemite Fall, but has a much greater volume of water, is about 1700 feet in height, and appears to be nearly vertical, though considerably inclined, and is dashed into huge outbounding bosses of foam on the projecting shelves and knobs of its jagged gorge. No two falls could be more unlike -- Tueeulala out in the open sunshine descending like thistledown; Wapama in a jagged, shadowy gorge roaring and plundering, pounding its way with the weight and energy of an avalanche. Besides this glorious pair there is a broad, massive fall on the main river a short distance above the head of the Valley. Its position is something like that of the Vernal in Yosemite, and its roar as it plunges into a surging trout-pool may be heard a long way, though it is only about twenty feet high. There is also a chain of magnificent cascades at the head of the valley on a stream that comes in from the northeast, mostly silvery plumes, like the one between the Vernal and Nevada falls of Yosemite, half-sliding,half-leaping on bare glacier polished granite, covered with crisp clashing spray into wish the sunbeams pour with glorious effect. And besides all these a few small streams come over the walls here and there, leaping from ledge to ledge with birdlike song and watering many a hidden cliff-garden and fernery, but they are too unshowy to be noticed in so grand a place.

The correspondence between the Hetch Hetchy walls in their trends, sculpture, physical structure, and general arrangement of the main rock-masses [and those of the Yosemite Valley] has excited the wondering admiration of every observer. We have seen that the El Capitan and Cathedral rocks occupy the same relative positions In both valleys; so also do their Yosemite Points and North Domes. Again that part of the Yosemite north wall immediately to the east of the Yosemite Fall has two horizontal benches timbered with golden-cup oak about 500 and 1500 feet above the floor. Two benches similarly situated and timbered occur on the same relative portion of the Hetch Hetchy north wall, to the east of Wapama Fall, and on no other. The Yosemite is bounded at the head by the great Half Dome. Hetch Hetchy is bounded in the same way though its head rock is far less wonderful and sublime in form.

The floor of the Valley is about three and a half miles long and from a fourth to half a mile wide. The lower portion is mostly a level meadow about a mile long, with the trees restricted to the sides, and partially separated from the upper forested portion by a low bar of glacier-polished granite across which the river breaks in rapids.

The principal trees are the yellow and sugar pines, Sabine pine, incense cedar, Douglas spruce, silver fir, the California and gold-cup oaks, balm of Gilead poplar, Nuttall's flowering dogwood, alder, maple, laurel, tumion, etc. The most abundant and influential are the great yellow pines, the tallest over two hundred feet in height, and the oaks with massive rugged trunks four to six or seven feet in diameter, and broad arching heads, assembled in magnificent groves. The shrubs forming conspicuous flowery clumps and tangles are manzanita, azalea, spiraea, brier-rose, ceanothus, calycanthus, philadelphus, wild cherry, etc.; with abundance of showy and fragrant herbaceous plants growing about them or out In the open in beds by themselves -- lilies, Mariposa tulips, brodiaeas, orchids -- several species of each,-- iris, spraguea, draperia, collomia, collinsia, castilleia, nemophila, larkspur, columbine, goldenrods, sunflowers, and mints of many species, honeysuckle, etc. etc. Many fine ferns dwell here also, especially the beautiful and interesting rock-ferns -- pellaea, and cheilanthes of several species -- fringing and rosetting dry rock-piles and ledges; woodwardia and asplenium on damp spots with fronds six or seven feet high; the delicate maidenhair in mossy nooks by the falls, and the sturdy, broad-shouldered pteris beneath the oaks and pines.

It appears therefore that Hetch-Hetchy Valley, far from being a plain, common, rock-bound meadow, as many who have not seen it seem to suppose, is a grand landscape garden, one of Nature's rarest and most precious mountain mansions. As in Yosemite, the sublime rocks of its walls seem to the nature-lover to glow with life, whether leaning back in repose or standing erect in thoughtful attitudes, giving welcome to storms and calms alike. And how softly these mountain rocks are adorned, and how fine and reassuring the company they keep --their brows in the sky, their feet set in groves and gay emerald meadows, a thousand flowers leaning confidingly against their adamantine bosses, while birds, bees, and butterflies help the river and waterfalls to stir all the air into music -- things frail and fleeting and types of permanence meeting here and blending, as if into this glorious mountain temple Nature had gathered here choices treasures, whether great or small, to draw her lovers into close confiding communion with her.

Strange to say, this is the mountain temple that is now in danger of being dammed and made into a reservoir to help supply San Francisco with water and light. This use of the valley, so destructive and foreign to its proper park use, has long been planned and prayed for, and is still being prayed for by the San Francisco board of supervisors, not because water as pure and abundant cannot be got from adjacent sources outside the park - for it can, -- but seemingly only because of the comparative cheapness of the dam required.

Garden- and park-making goes on everywhere with civilization, for everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where Nature may heal and cheer and give strength to body and soul. This natural beauty-hunger is displayed in poor folks' window-gardens made up of a few geranium slips in broken cups, as well as in the costly lily gardens of the rich, the thousands of spacious city parks and botanical gardens, and in our magnificent National parks -- the Yellowstone, Yosemite, Sequoia, etc. -- Nature's own wonderlands, the admiration and joy of the world. Nevertheless, like everything else worth while, however sacred and precious and well-guarded, they have always been subject to attack, mostly by despoiling gainseekers, -- mischief-makers of every degree from Satan to supervisors, lumbermen, cattlemen, farmers, etc., eagerly trying to make everything dollarable, often thinly disguised in smiling philanthropy, calling pocket-filling plunder "Utilization of beneficent natural resources, that man and beast may be fed and the dear Nation grow great." Thus long ago a lot of enterprising merchants made part of the Jerusalem temple into a place of business instead of a place of prayer, changing money, buying and selling cattle and sheep and doves. And earlier still, the Lord's garden in Eden, and the first forest reservation, including only one tree, was spoiled. And so to some extent have all our reservations and parks. Ever since the establishment of the Yosemite National Park by act of Congress, October 8, 1890, constant strife has been going on around its borders and I suppose this will go on as part of the universal battle between right and wrong, however its boundaries may be shorn or its wild beauty destroyed. The first application to the Government by the San Francisco Supervisors for the use of Lake Eleanor and the Hetch Hetchy Valley was made in 1903, and denied December 22nd of that year by the Secretary of the Interior. In his report on this case he well says: "Presumably the Yosemite National Park was created such by law because of the natural objects, of varying degrees of scenic importance, located within its boundaries, inclusive alike of its beautiful small lakes, like Eleanor, and its majestic wonders, like Hetch-Hetchy and Yosemite Valley. It is the aggregation of such natural scenic features that makes the Yosemite Park a wonderland which the Congress of the United States sought by law to preserve for all coming time as nearly as practicable in the condition fashioned by the hand of the Creator -- a worthy object of national pride and a source of healthful pleasure and rest for the thousands of people who may annually sojourn there during the heated months."

The most delightful and wonderful campgrounds in the Park are the three great valleys -- Yosemite, Hetch-Hetchy, and Upper Tuolumne; and they are also the most important places with reference to their positions relative to the other great features -- the Merced and Tuolumne Cañons, and the High Sierra peaks and glaciers, etc., at the head of the rivers. The main part of the Tuolumne Valley is a beautiful spacious flowery lawn four or five miles long, surrounded by magnificent snowy mountains. It is about 8500 feet above the sea, and forms the grand central High Sierra camp ground from which excursions are made to the noble mountains, domes, glaciers, etc.; across the Range to the Mono Lake and volcanoes and down the Tuolumne Cañon to Hetch Hetchy. But should Hetch Hetchy be submerged, as pro-posed, not only would it be made utterly inaccessible, but the sublime cañon way to the heart of the High Sierra would be hopelessly blocked. None, as far as I have learned, of all the thousands who have seen the park is in favor of this destructive water scheme.

My last visit to the Valley was made in the autumn of last year [1907], with William Keith, the artist. The leaf-colors were then ripe, and the great godlike rocks in repose seemed to glow with life. The artist, under their spell, wandered day after day along the beautiful river and through the groves and gardens, studying the wonderful scenery; and, after making about forty sketches, declared with enthusiasm that in picturesque beauty and charm Hetch Hetchy surpassed even Yosemite.

That any one would try to destroy such a place seemed impossible; but sad experience shows that there are people good enough and bad enough for anything. The proponents of the dam scheme bring forward a lot of bad arguments to prove that the only righteous thing for Hetch-Hetchy is its destruction. These arguments are curiously like those of the devil devised for the destruction of the first garden -- so much of the very best Eden fruit going to waste; so much of the best Tuolumne water. Very few of their statements are even partly true, and all are misleading. Thus, Hetch Hetchy, they say, is a "low-lying meadow."

On the contrary, it is a high-lying natural landscape garden.

"It is a common minor feature, like thousands of others."

On the contrary, it is a very uncommon feature; after Yosemite, the rarest and in many ways the most important in the park.

"Damming and submerging it 175 feet deep would enhance its beauty by forming a crystal-clear lake."

Landscape gardens, places of recreation and worship, are never made beautiful by destroying and burying them. The beautiful lake, forsooth, should be only an eyesore, a dismal blot on the landscape, like many others to be seen in the Sierra. For, instead of keeping it at the same level all the year, allowing Nature to make new shores, it would, of course, be full only a month or two in the spring, when the snow is melting fast; then it would be gradually drained, exposing the slimy sides of the basin and shallower parts of the bottom, with the gathered drift and waste, death and decay of the upper basins, caught here instead of being swept on to decent natural burial along the banks of the river or in the sea. Thus the Hetch Hetchy dam-lake would be only a rough imitation of a natural lake for a few of the spring months, an open mountain sepulcher for the others.

"Hetch Hetchy water is the purest, wholly unpolluted, and forever unpollutable."

On the contrary, excepting that of the Merced below Yosemite, it is less pure than that of most of the other Sierra streams, because of the sewerage of camp grounds draining into it, especially of the Big Tuolumne Meadows campgrounds, where hundreds of tourists and mountaineers, with their animals, are encamped for months every summer, soon to be followed by thousands of travelers from all the world.

These temple destroyers, devotees of ravaging commercialism, seem to have a perfect contempt for Nature, and, instead of lifting their eyes to the mountains, lift them to dams and town skyscrapers.

Dam Hetch-Hetchy! As well dam for water-tanks the people's cathedrals and churches, for no holier temple has ever been consecrated by the heart of man." -- John Muir

Im going to the bookstore today

I'm headed out to the bookstore today to buy a gift for someone and the great thing about buying a book as a gift is that you can read it for a while before you give it to someone.

It's called "Getting Stoned with Savages" and is about traveling around the pacific islands like Tahiti and Vanuatu.

By Me

Our Story

The Very Beginning

You sat next to me the very first day of class. I only saw the side of your face because everytime I looked over you were looking away. You say the same thing to me--that you only saw the side of my face, my mouth hanging open like it does all the time.

The next week class didn't meet because it was labor day and the whole school was off. I didn't get to see you and I remember wanting to.

The next time we met I came in and sat down next to you, put my books to the side of my seat and waited for class to start. It wasn't books that I put down next to me though, it was a bright yellow plastic Nikon bag from the photography store, I remember because I never had the text books for that class, I borrowed them from you. I kept all my photography class stuff in it and had just come from the darkroom. I remember because you said thats how you knew I was doing photography. The teacher asked for the asignment that was due and I panicked and left class thinking I was already behind and might as well drop the course. I didn't though. I came back after I calmed down and realized it might not be the end of the world. I came back because I still wanted to talk to you, and how wierd would it be if I waited outside the door for you that night or the next week? So I went back and I remember sitting behind you, the seat next to you was taken.

I raised my hand and voiced my opinion on something the teacher had said. I think you might have laughed or atleast chuckled. When the class broke for break you turned around and asked "Do you surf Huntington?" and I said "No. Never.". You turned back around facing forward in your seat.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Ashly" you replied.

"I'm David." I said to you.

We shook hands and smiled and you turned back around in your seat as the professor started class again.

After class ended that night I remember you walking next to me as we headed for the parking lot, not right next to me, but close enough, I figured, to hear me if I talked loud enough.

"That movie was pretty booring, huh?" I said loud enough to be heard by you and probably the ten people also walking near us.

Then you talked to me. I knew you were special. I rememeber you saying your dad was into photography too, and that you liked to surf.

"Give me your phone number and we'll go surf sometime." I said. I wasn't smooth at all.

I Thought You Blew Me Off

I had your phone number in my cell phone and I finally had a Friday free. I called you early in the afternoon to see if you wanted to meet me at the beach. You answered. You were at a soccer game with your roommate watching her younger brother. Somewhere in Mission Viejo or some place like that. You said you'd be done soon and would call me as soon as you were. I went home and just kind of waited around for you to call. I don't know if I told you so at the time or ever, but I was kind of just hanging out at home jsut waiting for you to call. A couple of hours passed and I still hadn't heard from you. Then you called. I really thought that you had blown me off, that you really weren't calling me because you didn't want to hang out. You said you fell alseep.

We met at the beach a little while later. I went surfing while I waited for you and by the time you came I was just laying on the beach waiting for you. You walked up and were beautiful. I couldn't tell you that right then because I didn't want to seem like a creep, but you really were.

You layed down next to me and we watched the surf for a little while and Jake came by and grabbed a board and went out surfing. We watched him for a while and watched the sun go down. We were lying just a little ways from Tower Sixty Eight.

We left the beach to go get some food. I took you to Taco Mesa and just as I ordered I realized that I had left my credit card in my other shorts and had no money so I walked away from the cash register and was just going to sit and talk to you. You bought me my food though. We sat there and talked about everything. You say that I was smiling so much and I don't doubt it because I was so stoked to be eating dinner with such a beautiful girl.

After dinner we were standing by our cars in the parking lot and me being so smooth offered--since you bought me dinner that night--to take you out to dinner another night, to make up for that night. I was so excited that you said yes, because I really wanted to spend more time with you and that was my chance to really take you out on a date.

We both left after that. You had a party to go to and some girl wanted to hang out with me that night. Walking from my car in the garage to my apartment you called saying you were lost, that you must have taken a wrong turn, and asked what I was doing that night. I wanted you to come over. I wanted to spend more time with you.

Captain Nemo #2

A little continuation on the earlier theme. Wait until tomorrow to see the grand finale of the Captain Nemo's.

The blogger is sick today

I'm sick! I'm layed out in bed right now and writing this blog. Since the theme of the day is sick, let me tell you about a movie called "Don't Drink the Water". I don't have very much to say about this movie yet because I only got to watch the first 5 minutes of the movie yesterday and it is saved on my TiVo in the living room and I am laying here under quarantine because for some reason nobody else wants to be full on sick in the middle of August. Weird. Well the first five minutes of this movie are pretty promising, there is a very very attractive girl as one of the stars. Other than that all I can tell you about the movie is what TCM told me on the idiot box: Pretty much the movie is about a small family who are going on a trip to France but the plane gets highjacked and taken to some weird country. More later ...

A little flavor for the hizzzouse!

So if you have been reading lately you got some good blogs on books and movies, but as the title up there promises, here is some rap music.

Found

I came home tonight and sat down on my trusty old toilet and picked up my trusty old book The Cave. You might have heard of it, it was mentioned a little earlier. I opened the book up to some random page and it reminded me of the poor mangy stray dog we tried to help out earlier today. I want to call him Found.

Well, here is a little internet good vibe out to poor Found.

"He opened the door wide and made a gesture, Come in. Without taking his eyes off his master, Found took one timid step, then, as if to indicate that he wasn't quite sure he had understood the order, he stopped. Come in, said the potter again. The dog advanced slowly and came to a halt in the middle of the kitchen. Welcome to our house, said Marta, but you had better know the rules right away, a dog's necessities, both solid and liquid, should be taken care of outside, the same goes for food, now, during the day, you can come and go as much as you like, but at night, you go to your kennel, so as to guard the house, and I don't want you thinking I'm less well-disposed toward you than your master is, and to prove it I was the one who told him that you are a dog that needs company. During the time the lecture lasted, Found didn't take his eyes off her for a moment. He couldn't understand what Marta wanted of him, but his small dog's brain knew that in order to learn, one must look and listen. He waited for a few moments after Marta had finished speaking, then curled up in a corner of the kitchen, although he did not even have time to warm the spot up, for as soon as Cipriano Algor had sat down, Found got to his feet again and went and lay by his chair. And just so that there should be no doubts in the minds of his owners that he had a clear understanding of his duties and responsibilities, barely a quarter of an hour had passed before he got up from there and went and lay down beside Marta. A dog knows when someone needs his company." -- Jose Saramago The Cave (pg. 63-64)

Captain Nemo #1

That last post was a little too much intellect for me. Here is a classic little trailer from YouTube.





This is Captain Nemo #1, the most bad ass Nemo of them all if you ask me. A little later next week (let's say Wednesday) I have an unbelievable YouTube find for people who dig old movies, a must see, especially for the sci-fi guys out there.

Jose Saramago

Short version: Jose Saramago will blow your mind. Get All the Names and The Cave and you will be stoked.

Long version:

Some more literary ball washing. The latest read to be carried around by yours truly is The Cave by Jose Saramago. I first read this book in highschool; it was assigned reading (sorry for the semi-colon). A little later as I worked at a bookstore and got a decent discount I would go on book buying spending sprees. One of the books I picked up on these sprees was All the Names by, you guessed it, Jose Saramago.

I recently finished reading All the Names (see post below about Senhor Jose) and am now getting into re-reading The Cave. These two books are insane when it comes to the metaphysical exploration they both delve into. Jose will have you questioning so much as you read and re-read his work. His greatest accomplishment though I think is how effortlessly he accomplishes this. One time I heard a comment about a certain musician (J#ck J#hnson) that said he was too shallow to fully explore the irony and contradictions of our lives, and this has rung so true for me in any area of art.

Jose is a great writer because through his fictional stories he is simply able to start the gears of our minds spinning. The most unfortunate problem with Jose's ability to fully explore and exhibit life's many ironies and contradictions is that I am always so swept up in my own that I am never able to fully enjoy his.

Special note: His futuristic third-world cities that he bases these stories in are rad.

Keith would listen to rap music.

Kieth is one of my heroes. You see all these air brushes of Jimi Hendrix with his guitar or Bob Marley with some sort of herb, but what I want will top all those, I want a paint pen drawing of Keith Moon with a bottle of gin in one hand and his drumsticks in the other.

John Muir was a bad ass?

Did you know John Muir was a bad ass? You see, he came from a time when men were men. This guy had crazy California love. Nas went to war with FOX over some stupid girl fight with Bill Oriley but Mr. Muir went to war with the US Government over the Hetch Hetchy Valley. If you want to hear a very fiery speach (it's not in rhyme so it isn't all that good-RIP Mac Dre) then read his speech about the preservation of Hetch Hetchy. Anyways, a great book to read now that summer is here is The Yosemite by John Muirm. I don't think there is a person in this world who could go to Yosemite valley and not be in awe. You drive into this surreal valley with verticle granite walls rising thousands of feet from the floor with wierd allien monoliths hanging from them; it is almost difficult to believe what you are seeing as you gawk out the car window.



All this is fine and well for us normies, but not for John. You see, John is a man who appreciates the details. Read The Yosemite and see what I am talking about. You will know EVERYTHING about the Yosemite valley after you have read this book, and the thing is, the whole thing is actually interesting not to mention that it is broken up into a multitude of small very manageable chapters for what I call "bathroom reading", which is the ability to actually feel like you accomplished something during your ten to fifteen minutes of reading.



Back to the original subject-John is a bad ass. In the middle of a huge storm he clims to the top of this 100 foot pine tree just to see what it's like and the top of the tree is swaying like 20 feet as he gets up there-and keep in mind this is all sans rope. He also spent a night ona glacier in Alaska without a sleeping bag or any modern luxuries. To top it all off is the fact that he parties with Indians who have a drinking problem. Yep, brother gets down. Read all about his travels in his books; I suggest "The Yosemite" and "My Travels in Alaska" both books are plenty dope.

Senhor Jose

I had to go by the civic center in Santa Ana today and as I looked down on the piece of paper I had written my destination I couldn't help but think about this book I read a couple of months ago. Senhor Jose works at the Hall of Records and lives right next door to them. Today I was on a mission to head out to the Hall of Finance and Records. I kept thinking of poor old Jose as I had to walk up to the various clerks there, wondering what they would have done if they were confronted by the imposing Hall of Records that Jose had to deal with, with stacks of files a hundred feet tall and the the hall itself was o complicated that clerks needed an Arachne's thread to make sure that everyone found there way back--this was installed after a researcher was lost in the Hall for two weeks and survived off cardboard.



Look at "All the Names" at Amazon.com

The 10 Million Dollar Movie

I really dig this movie. I've probably seen it twenty times. It cost $10,000,000 to make it way back in 1962 and I think it is my favorite D-Day movie. It has all the black and white movie stars you could ever want: John Wayne, Henry Fonda, and Sean Connery. The movie is great, and all the characters speak their own languages with subtitle sin english. The biggest dissapointment is that Charlton Heston was considered for the role that John Wayne played and personally, I really think they blew it on that one.

Little bit of info from wikipedia: "During the filming of the landings at Omaha Beach, the American soldiers appearing as extras did not want to jump off the landing craft into the water because they thought it would be too cold. Robert Mitchum, who played General Norman Cota, became disgusted with their trepidation. He jumped in first, at which point the soldiers had no choice but to follow his example." -- Wikipedia

Crashers!!!!

I was happening to do a little blog related browsing and was looking at the list of AFI's top 100 movies of all time. I read all 100 of them in eager anticipation but in the end I was left so disappointed.

Where was The North Shore?

But please do not worry because we here at Growl-Matic feel strongly that it is your right and duty to get only the best surfing cinema that Hollywood has to offer. So please sit back and enjoy this sweet little clip from Big Wednesday --





*note that Matt Johnson was my idol all through high school, I mean, come on, the man had it all.

Why I love short stories.

You find a novel and you start reading it; and before you know it, you are married to it. It sinks it's claws into you and grabs you; and before you know it, you are committed to this 400 page book. Not with short stories. You can come home from a long day at school or work, open up your favorite book of short stories (or maybe even your copy of The Ratty Reader) sit down and read for fifteen minutes. You turn your mind on and get your imagination going and in just a short time everything melts away. My good friend Kurt put it best when he says that short stories are a form of "Buddhist catnaps". Just try to read a good short story by any of the great writers and see if you do not feel better afterwards.

This is my applause [applause] to the masters of the short story. Good for you Flannery! Yeah Kurt! Keep it up Mr. Twain!

Next time you head to the bookstore for some new reads, check out these titles:

The Complete Stories -- Flannery O'Connor
Welcome to the Monkey House -- Kurt Vonnegut
The Best Short Stories of Mark Twain

ALF!!!!!

I found this website called Hulu a couple months back and have really been digging it. It has some great things to watch on it, including random tv shows. I remember this show from when I was a little kid. Do you remember Alf? I'm just watching the first episode right now as I post this blog and all I can say is that this show is KAAAAA-----ORRRRRRRNY!!!

Loked Out Hood - Dj Quik

Dj Quik is one of the best rappers around. He came from nowhere at 18 years old in Compton and went on to sign the rap world's first six figure contract. He produced all his own beat early on and still does most of the beats for his songs that hes producing now. You gotta love this song all about living a day in Compton. You see, the main reason this song is so good is it has a story line. This song isn't just some black man in a recording booth making rhymes about why he is so much better then another man and throwing in a few racial slurs and cuss words here and there, but an actual story.

Enjoy!!!

Nas Goes to War With Fox

Nas is at war with FOX!!! Bill O'Riley's at odds with Nas yo.

Why Soylent Green just didn't do it for me.

Have you seen Soylent Green? I just have. Charlton Heston is possibly the greatest over over actor, in fact, it makes me wonder what it would be like to see him teach a Sunday school class; the man is intense. For those of you who haven't seen the movie you might as well stop reading here because the rest of this blog is an in depth analyses as to why Soylent Green didn't do it for me.

The movie is almost great in my opinion. Some may say that if you've seen one Charlton Heston movie then you have seen them all. I disagree. He really never ever reaches his full sneering and yelling potential in any one performance and to truly understand the world of CH you must see all of his movies-kind of like Paully Shore.

The allusions to Kurt Vonnegut stories are numerous and pretty obvious, and for a yuppy Vonnegut groupie like me, that is always a plus. Seriously, they should have had the old man dial 2br02b to just seal the deal. I wonder if Kurt had that idea originally or if he had borrowed the concept from somebody else?

Now to why Soylent Green just didn't do it for me. You begin to suspect what is going on as CH climbs into the garbage truck and heads past the security checkpoint. Spoiler alert: (as CH says) "SOYLENT GREEN IS MADE FROM PEOPLE!!!". So now CH goes back into the city to let this terrible secret out and is taken away, but, what happens next? I was left feeling so let down that the story ended right then and there.

I am announcing here on this blog my intentions to WRITE A SEQUEL TO SOYLENT GREEN!!!

Buy "Soylent Green" from Amazon.com

Player Piano -- Kurt Vonnegut

I think that it is only fitting that my very first post be a book review of my favorite book of all time.

Kurt Vonnegut's first novel was Player Piano. It is an awesome tale of what could easily have been after World War II. It describes a world in which people have essentially been replaced by machines and because of their inherent need to feel needed and useful have lost their identities as members of the American culture. The novel is a beautiful examples of Vonnegut's ability to portray what might possibly be and at the same time invite the reader in to examine the complexities of our lives as humans. In typical luddite fashion--Kurt has admitted that he suffers from this affliction, or blessing if you may--Vonnegut portrays the progress in technology made during World War II as running amok and essentially taking over the whole country. Through the satire and wit though there is a very important message in this cautionary tale. As his earliest novel the message is portrayed fairly bluntly; it is interesting to compare this first novel to some of his later works in which the irony and wit almost seem to cloud the subtle messages and intentions of the text almost completely.

Buy "Player Piano" from Amazon.com