Stereotypography.

Excellent site, Eric. Fun play.

237/New City Hall.

Highway 237 is a very congested highway that takes me out of Milpitas. My workplace is about 17 miles away from my home. It takes me one hour one way every day to drive 17 miles. The reason? 237.

How this little road has changed. When I was a child, it was a simple four-lane thoroughfare called Milpitas-Alviso Road. It traversed lush fields of mustard occasioned by greenhouses and barns. You should see it now. Dead dot.com campuses stand like a mothballed fleet in an opus to economic decline.

It's not entirely unenjoyable, my commute. I find ways to entertain myself, singing, watching egrets land on lightpoles, politely inquiring of my fellow commuters where in tarnations they learned to drive. It looks a lot like L.A. at the interchange being built connecting with 880 (fka Highway 17). I call it "The Pit." Yesterday as I was heading into The Pit, where 5,000 commuters an hour converge at an ill-designed, poorly-placed stoplight, cramming single-passenger cars through and out the Bottleneck from Hell, the sky was blue, it was clear, cold, sunny and partly cloudy, and fluffy white clouds drifted peacefully up above. In a freak cloudburst that was ominously right over my car, it rained for about thirty seconds. It was either that or one of those cute construction guys playing a joke with a water hose. At least there's been something good to look at while all the confounded construction has been taking place.

The new Milpitas City Hall is open. I went to the dedication/ribbon-cutting ceremony. (My left arm is in the photo published by the Post. I could tell it was me by the watchband.) I recognized a couple of people there, not many. The building is spartan, beautiful, and visitors enjoy a lovely fountain with a bronze statue of a girl playing flute in the center. Click here for the photo (which incidentally was taken by one Scott Hester...could he be a relative of high school hunk Ed Hester??).
PamInPost02.PDFclick here

Gathering No Moss. Well, Maybe Just A Little.

Anyone listening to KFOG 104.5FM this morning at 8:38 AM would have heard *me* on the radio. The KFOG morning DJs asked Fogheads to call in and vote for their least favorite Rolling Stones song. In a nice way I voted for a genuinely bad one. I said, "My vote goes to Lady Jane. It was on the flip side of Mother's Little Helper. I had the 45 when I was a kid. [laughing] Not a good song." They put on three other Foghead votes before mine (Emotional Rescue (which I like for its parody of disco and for Mick's deliciously drawn-out, "I'll be your Knight In Shining Ahmaaaah..."), Parachute Woman (never heard it but jeepers, if the song's as bad as the title...) and, without any doubt the skin-crawling worst of the bunch, Angie received endorsement). My vote was aired last, and when it ended they put in a sound byte of Jagger saying, in that motor-oil Brit accent, "...and we wrote some really awful love ballads..." underscoring my vote in true best-for-last style. (FYI, for those lucky enough not to have suffered it, Lady Jane is a "really awful love ballad." My sister remembers it well.) They put me on the air! I love it. It felt so cool. It was fun hearing myself on the radio.

My Backyard.

My backyard smells like fresh earth and justice. My backyard looks like how things should look when everything's okay. I have a lot of people to thank for that. My parents. My friends, my family, my children, my dog, and all the marines, sailors, soldiers and cops who put their lives on the line every day to keep the peace, take care of and defend our cities, towns, and country. I feel selfish and a little guilty for being so blessed with all that I have. Including two beautiful, loving parents who gave me the world I live in.

Three Things I Like.

1. Nesting dolls.
2. Hearing someone hum while cooking.
3. Playing cat and mouse with the dog.

Translation:

The Match.com banner that chokes up my Yahoo screens yells "Meet Professional Singles." This phrase translates to "Meet People Who Are Professionals at Being Single." Professional Singles, get it?

Doonesbloggy.

Trés apropos, Messieur Larson. [fwd-credit to my friend Bill, who helped me build this blog. Thanks, Bill.]

Back When TV Was Good.

Last night I got a real treat on ESPN Classics: The Valentine's Day Massacre, the 1951 boxing match between Jake LaMotta and Sugar Ray Robinson. Their sixth and possibly final fight (I'll have to check that.) Anyway, the contrast between televised sports back then, when TV in America was still new and clean, and how sports are televised now, was tremendous. One of my favorite movies of all time, Raging Bull, depicted this fight. DeNiro's portrayal was so powerful, when I saw it the first time I remember thinking, "Gee, I'd like to see file footage of the 'real' fight." Fast forward twenty years to last night, and there it was on ESPN (thank you, ESPN). Jolting Jake LaMotta aka The Bronx Bull in action was riveting. The movie looked exactly like the fight, with fewer close-ups and no slow-motion shots. LaMotta, a brick wall, practically never blinked. Sugar Ray danced like a marionette on fire. Notably, the lack of commercial accoutrements we are so drilled with, sheep that we are -- the huge banners, the banal, insulting ads, the crushing commercialism -- was beautiful. A ring with two guys boxing. Practically commercial-free. Practically, because in between rounds when the fighters were in their corners refreshing for the next round, a transparent Pabst Blue Ribbon trademark gently, silently floated over the whole scene, showing the round number at the bottom. You could still see the boxers, still hear the announcers, and not be forced to stop for a commercial and miss a thing. You got the gist. They do that today, I know, but not enough, and certainly not for every ad. The simplicity of quasi-subliminal messages as opposed to entire five-minute commercial-packed spans of wasted downtime was surreal. The way commercials should be. Unobtrusive. Simple. To the point and out of the way. Anyway. The chance to watch the real fight was not to be missed. It was fascinating, and was called two minutes into the thirteenth round with LaMotta taking a supreme pummeling, BUT, he never hit the mat. When Robinson was declared winner I was glued watching LaMotta, waiting for him to say, "You never took me down, Ray. You never took me down." That was one of the greatest scenes ever filmed/directed/produced, but it looked to me like it didn't actually happen in history. At least not on camera anyway. LaMotta was a stud. Snippets of him filmed today talking about his boxing strategies and what was going on in his head at the time were tossed in every so often throughout the program. Finally, finally, something real, and really good, on the box. I wish everyone would take a lesson from the old days and simplify sports how they used to be, and how they should be: the arena, the players, and the sport, period. The purity of it almost brought tears to my eyes.

Shoppin for Stuff.

Found a terrific recycled-clothing store in Santa Cruz called Crossroads Trading Post, on Pacific Avenue. Cool stuff we loved. Fun day -- great weather, interesting scenery, close encounters. Carol is asserting her individuality and it's a stretch for us both. God I love that girl.

My Three I's.

Imagination, Insight, and Intuition. I find them helpful. Insight from the past, Intuition in the here and now, and Imagination for the future.

Don't Even Blink.

When your kids are little, you can't take time to blink -- too much happens when your eyes are closed. They're one year old, then they're five, then they turn fifteen, then twenty-one. It all happens in a blink. Time zips by. Seriously. First thing you know, it's Christmas -- then you turn around and it's September again, time to start buying Christmas gifts. Don't miss one precious minute of all your blessings, whether or not you have children. Every second counts.