Latest Posts

Submerged.

Note: Because of my schedule this week my friend Allen Walker has allowed me to publish one of his articles. Walker is a professional journalist and regular feature writer for Catchall, the alt-weekly for Catalpa, Tennessee. His articles have also appeared in Matrix, Road Hogs, Elsewhere, and other publications.His essay Patagonia Dreamin’ is included in the anthology The Journey Of A Thousand Miles.

His work, previously uncredited, has also appeared here:

Living Or Dead is Purely Coincidental, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

The Year That Was, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

ellentonKatherine plans to keep working at Ellenton as a tour guide once it’s opened to the public. She’s been here for two years as a government inspector ensuring the safety of the remaining buildings and working as a diver. Removing as much hazardous material from the water as possible has been an arduous task. Luckily it was a small town, dying economically even before Hurricane Philip and before the underground aquifer broke permanently flooding the area. No geologic survey of the area had ever been done so no one realized how lucky it was that the town hadn’t already been permanently flooded.

“The biggest problem is security,” Katherine tells me as we stroll around the edges of what’s now known as Lake Ellenton. It’s only May but the air is still muggy, the temperature already soaring this early in the morning. The surrounding trees buzz with insects. I look down at the water and see water gliders skating across the surface. Looking up I can see the public library nearby. A Neoclassical building that must have cost the town a fortune its steps are now submerged. I can see the head of something, a carved bird, I think, poking up next to one of the columns. A real bird is perched atop it.

“There’s just so much area to cover. People have been trying to sneak in almost since day one. We’ve caught all kinds of daredevils, and just curious types.”

We stop and look down a broad street.

“The closest precedent for this is lakes made by dams, intentional flooding done by the TVA [Tennessee Valley Authority]. Houses were submerged, but they were cleaned out first, and mostly burned. And there people had warning. They had plenty of time to leave. Here it was all over in a flash. Two days.”

It’s still called miraculous that the entire population of two-hundred and ninety-seven people survived. The heavy rain from the hurricane was expected to bring flooding so people were prepared, and many had already left ahead of it. The realization that no one would be able to go home again was a shock no one could have expected. The insurance debacles, the lawsuits, and the story of Henry Clovis, the last resident who had to be forcibly removed from the attic of his home, have all been written about. Now, two years later, Ellenton is about to experience a new economic boom. It’s going to be opened to tourists to join Fukushima, Chernobyl, and Alta Mira as a site for disaster tourism, famous as The Underwater Town.

(more…)

Pop Quiz!

Musical term or pasta?

  1. Fusilli
  2. Abbellimenti
  3. Pappardelle
  4. Pizzoccheri
  5. Villotta
  6. Lamento
  7. Mafaldine
  8. Rigatoni
  9. Bamboula
  10. Tutti
  11. Obbligato
  12. Zimbalon
  13. Farfalloni
  14. Jongleur
  15. Passacaglia
  16. Lumaconi
  17. Mandala
  18. Orecchiette
  19. Quadrefiore
  20. Funiculì
  21. Ricciutelle
  22. Quadrettini
  23. Sacchettini
  24. Tortelloni
  25. Epithalamium
  26. Gnocchi
  27. Spatzle
  28. Malagueña
  29. Bucatini
  30. Logorrhea

Each answer is worth 1 point.

1-10 points: Great job guessing!

11-20 points: Your music appreciation/cooking instructor is somewhere saying, “Thank goodness something got through.”

21-30 points: We’re coming to your place for dinner and/or a concert.

Answer key:

answerkey

Let’s Review!

As one who is both regularly a pedestrian and behind the wheel I’ve noticed a lot of confusion regarding the rules of the road. Here are some helpful tips, clarifications, addendums, codicils, hacks, inclusions, annexations, impositions, and aggregations.

walkPedestrians: when you see this sign it means you can safely cross the street.

Drivers: when you see this sign it’s usually accompanied by a red light. Drive on through and yell at the pedestrians to get out of your way.

 

 

 

 

dontwalkPedestrians: when you see this sign it means you need to dart quickly into traffic, dodging oncoming vehicles as best you can.

Drivers: when this sign is lit be sure to aim your car at pedestrians to see if they’ll get out of the way. This is all part of a fun game we call “thinning the herd”.

 

 

 

 

018This is where pedestrians are generally known to cross, but, like a deer crossing, pedestrians might cross the street anywhere or at any time.

Drivers: be sure to keep some rope or bungee cords in your trunk so you can take home any pedestrians you happen to hit. They’re good eating, and that guy in the suit who was talking on his cell phone is going to look great stuffed and mounted in the corner of your den.

 

 

002In the United States this is called a crosswalk. In Britain it’s called a zebra crossing because of the large number of zebras who emigrated from South Africa. In Canada it’s called an oh, do you mind if I cross the street here, eh? In Australia it’s called a wakka-wakka-burra-burra.

When you see this sign it means this is a place where pedestrians who are already in the process of crossing have the right of way. If pedestrians are on the sidewalk drivers need to come to a halt, give that condescending two fingered wave, and then slowly inch forward. Drivers also get bonus points for blowing their horn at pedestrians in the middle of crossing.

 

 

 

I hope this makes everything perfectly clear for everyone except bicyclists and motorcycle riders who insist on coming up behind me on the sidewalk.

Keep Looking Up.

003In 1879 amateur archaeologist Marcelino Sanz de Sautuola and his eight-year old daughter discovered prehistoric paintings in a cave near Altamira, Spain. The first time I heard about this I was told it was the cave that was called Altamira because they had to look up—the name roughly translates into English as “look high”, or, more accurately, to look from on high, since Altamira is on a mountain. The person who told me all this had their facts really mixed up, but whenever I think about prehistoric cave paintings, paintings that date back more than thirty-thousand years, I feel kind of like I’m floating. Looking back through that much time is like looking down from a very high point.

There’s something really impressive about any graffiti placed high, even if the graffiti itself isn’t that impressive. Maybe it’s because I’m not a big fan of heights, but I admire the effort it took an artist to climb up somewhere and leave their mark. In the example above it’s not particularly high, but graffiti is illegal, and whoever climbed up there was more exposed than they would have been if they’d just worked on the lower walls.

Here’s a more impressive example of high graffiti, snagged from Google Maps because I haven’t been able to get a decent picture of my own. The bus is in the foreground but should still give some idea of how high the piece on the left is.

busgraffitiCave paintings and graffiti in high places also makes me think of the poem Memory Cave by Yusef Komunyakaa from his book Thieves Of Paradise.

A tallow worked into a knot

of rawhide, with a ball of waxy light

tied to a stick, the boy

scooted through a secret mouth

of the cave, pulled by the flambeau

in his hand. He could see

the gaze of agate eyes

& wished for the forbidden

plains of bison & wolf, years

from the fermented honey

& musty air. In the dried

slag of bear & bat guano,

the initiate stood with sleeping

gods at his feet, lost

in the great cloud of their one

breath. Their muzzles craved

touch. How did they learn

to close eyes, to see into

the future? Before the Before:

mammon was unnamed & mist

hugged ravines & hillocks.

The elders would test him

beyond doubt & blood. Mica

lit the false skies where

stalactite dripped perfection

into granite. He fingered

icons sunlight & anatase

never touched. Ibex carved

on a throwing stick, reindeer

worried into an ivory amulet,

& a bear’s head. Outside,

the men waited two days

for him, with condor & bovid,

& not in a thousand years

would he have dreamt a woman

standing here beside a man,

saying, “This is as good

as the stag at Salon Noir

& the polka-dotted horses.”

The man scribbles Leo loves

Angela below the boy’s last bear

drawn with manganese dioxide

& animal fat. This is where

sunrise opened a door in stone

when he was summoned to drink

honey wine & embrace a woman

beneath a five-pointed star.

Lying there beside the gods

hefty & silent as boulders,

he could almost remember

before he was born, could see

the cliff from which he’d fall.

What Would I Do?

ethicaldilemmaIt was right in front of the frozen pizzas. I turned and she was right there, well within my discomfort zone.

“I hate to bug you but do you have twelve bucks? I’m up here from Georgia and need a brake job for my car and that’s how much I’m short and it would really help me a lot.”

Being a good person is extremely important to me, but I also worry that I’m overly naïve, that I’ll be ripped off, or, even worse, that in my desire to do the right thing I’ll do the wrong thing. It’s the kind of dilemma most people wrestle with, and while there’s always a voice in my head that says I should err on the side of caution and throw a couple of dollars to someone who just might go and spend it on a nineball bag of methamsmackolaine or whatever’s popular on the streets right now most of the time I just mumble that I haven’t got any cash on me. And the fact that most of the time this is true does ease my conscience just a little. In the past I’ve even seen homeless guys standing on corners with signs that say, “Why lie? Want beer” And I’ve had friends who pulled over and gave those guys a couple of dollars.

“They were being honest and that should be rewarded,” my friends say. Oh, thanks a lot for further muddying the moral waters there. Now I feel guilty for not giving those guys money even though I’d feel just as guilty for giving them money. I want to help the homeless. I’ve done volunteer work for homeless shelters. And yet I still don’t know whether giving someone on the street a little money is the right thing or the wrong thing to do. It’s easy to look back on mistakes I’ve made, times when I could see the end result and how and where exactly I screwed up and say, hey, if a situation like that ever comes up again I should do the opposite, or at least something different, but it’s a lot harder to know what to do when I’ll never see the consequences.

And this isn’t helped by TV shows that set up these kinds of dilemmas and ask people, “What would you do?” and catch some people being really good and embarrass some people who get caught behaving like jackasses or just being silent bystanders, which may or may not be worse than being a jackass because all that’s required for jackasses to succeed is for good people to do nothing.

I’m pretty sure I wasn’t on camera, or at least potentially on a TV show, because that sort of thing only seems to happen to people who live near major TV studios. Not that it even occurred to me that I might be TV fodder because I was too busy doing ethical calculus in my head. Ethical calculus is even harder than regular calculus because there are so many more variables and with regular calculus you at least have a chance at getting the right answer, although I’m so bad at math anyway I don’t even know where to start with a calculus problem. I wonder if the possibility of being on camera so much ever alters anyone’s behavior, sort of like the Heisenberg principle, but then physicists tell me that’s a gross misinterpretation of the Heisenberg principle. And I can’t tell them I can’t even begin to understand calculus so physics is light years beyond me, but that’s another story.

I did have a pretty cool chemistry teacher. I wonder what became of him. Source: Wikipedia

The ethical calculus started with the woman herself. Nicely dressed in white jeans and a pink top, with bleach-blonde hair she clearly wasn’t homeless. But did that mean her story was likely to be any more true? The store was a pretty good distance from the nearest car repair place. It wasn’t a huge distance, but there were other stores closer to the car repair place. Why’d she choose one so far away? And I have no idea how much the average brake job costs, but what kind of car repair place wouldn’t spot someone twelve bucks? Maybe she’d collected money from other people in the store, since it seemed like an oddly specific amount, and that made her story seem a little more believable. But then I wondered why she drove several hundred miles without a credit card or a cell phone to call someone back home who could help. If she were obviously poor that would have explained it, but she wasn’t.

Written out it seems like I was frozen there staring at her like a tree frog for about three and a half days but the truth is it was only about ten seconds before I stammered out that I didn’t have twelve dollars. This was technically true, but technically true is also technically lying, since I think I had five dollars in my wallet that I could have handed over, but before I could do any ethical calculus weighing feeling guilty versus feeling ripped off she was gone.

On my way out I passed her holding hands with a guy the size and shape of a large whiskey barrel. With his other hand he was holding a cell phone to his ear and I overheard him say, “Yeah, we’re fine. We’ll see you soon.”

Had they gotten the rest of the money? Did she even really need any money? Was I part of some bizarre psychological experiment? I was still turning these questions over in my mind a couple of hours later when I got a call on my phone.

“Hi. This is Carl. I’d like to talk to you about your recent computer purchase.”

I hung up without having to do any ethical calculus, but why is it so much easier to spot a scam when it’s not staring you in the face?

Lizz On.

lizzfreeHappy birthday Lizz Winstead.

She’s best known as a political commentator and co-creator of The Daily Show, but she started in standup comedy and theater, and her book of personal essays Lizz Free or Die provides some hilarious and poignant insight into her background. She explains a lot about who she is and how she moved so far from the conservative Catholic family she was brought up in.

She discusses her decision to take up babysitting even though she didn’t really like babies, and how babies knew she didn’t like her and would “scowl” at her. “Every photo of me as a kid holding a baby looks like a poster promoting a heavyweight championship fight.” And her young obsession with a praying hands statue mounted on the wall—wondering whose hands they were and why they’d been amputated—cracks me up every time I reread it.

Like these.  Source: Amazon.com

Yeah, I can see why these would freak out a kid. Lucky me I was raised by Presbyterians.
Source: Amazon.com

Winstead also takes more serious turns, such as when, almost completely ignorant about sex other than how to do it, she got pregnant and her first boyfriend left her to deal with it on her own. Then there’s, among other things, the time she put in paying her standup dues. Winstead started at a time when comedy was notoriously unfriendly to women comics and she faced plenty of unfriendly audiences, including once disastrously opening for Frankie Valli.

The book seems to cut off too soon—she briefly covers her time creating and working on The Daily Show, but ends there—but that’s okay. Yes, I would like more, but she does some pretty serious soul baring in her essays, and it would be unfair to expect anything more.

It’s A Douglas Adams Universe. We Just Live In It.

The way it functioned was very interesting. When the Drink button was pressed it made an instant but highly detailed examination of the subject’s taste buds, a spectroscopic analysis of the subject’s metabolism and then sent tiny experimental signals down the neural pathways to the taste centers of the subject’s brain to see what was likely to go down well. However, no one knew quite why it did this because it invariably delivered a cupful of liquid that was almost, but not quite, entirely unlike tea.

-Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy

drink1drink2If you’ve encountered one of these machines you’ve probably discovered that no matter what you select it comes out tasting vaguely like everything else it also dispenses. Never before has anyone thought to combine lemonade with Coke, Vanilla Coke, Cherry Coke, green tea, Powerade, Sprite, at least four flavors of Fanta, orange juice, and assorted other beverages, and if you’ve tasted the result you know why.

It’s a classic example of good idea/bad design. Some engineer came up with a brilliant idea to collapse a standard drink dispenser into the same space as a standard vending machine, saving restaurants approximately six square inches, but didn’t think that something as simple as an intermittent squirt of water to clean the nozzle would be necessary.

Coming up next: how the ancient myth of Sisyphus anticipated Windows 8.