Flying W Things

Well, Duh. ()

Today I treated myself to breakfast at Bob's Big Boy. I picked up a copy of the Los Angeles Times to keep me company and saw this headline on the front page:

"Transcripts of 9/11 Calls Show Fear, Confusion"

Really?

Next up in the Times, "Men Find Kicks to Groin Painful."

A Little Quantification

My friend Doug and I were discussing the recent Mars phenomenon. Everybody can quote the statistic that "Mars hasn't been this close in almost 60,000 years." But Doug asked what I thought was a pertinent question - so it's closer, but how much closer?

We agreed that it's not too exciting if it's only, say, a mile or two closer than it normally gets.

So I did a little digging, and found this on the Discovery Channel website:

Every 26 months, Earth and Mars pass each other in their respective orbits at a relatively close distance, like the hands of a clock that sweep past each other every hour.

The planets' orbits are not circular, however, and slight irregularities in their elliptical paths occasionally bring the two bodies closer together than usual. Such is the case this year, when the span closes to 34.6 million miles, or about 30 percent closer than normal.

It'll be another 284 years until Mars comes this close again.

So now you know - it's about 30% closer than is typical. And darn bright, too.

Called Out

Pat has called me out in his weblog.

See, he just got back from Oklahoma and was telling me about the new dome on the state capital building. I cannot believe that they spent money - public or private - on something as dippy as adding a dome to a 90some year old building.

I don't care if it was in the original plans - heck, they probably had horse stables and gas lamps in the original plans - it's just dumb.

Anyway, if you swing by Pat's weblog you can see a nice picture of the new dome, which unsurprisingly looks like every other capital building dome you've ever seen. And while you're there, check out his SoundClick page and listen to his songs - good stuff by the hardest working indie singer-songwriter in north-central Glendale.

Into the Looking-Glass

My friend Doug and I spent this past weekend as guests at an exclusive men's club.

It was a little strange to be in the company of what amounted to San Francisco�s moneyed elite, but I just tried to keep Tom Landry�s quote about excessive touchdown celebrations in mind: �When you get into the end zone, try to act like you�ve been there before.�

There were 600 Children (as members are known), Babies (new members), and guests gathered at The Farm this weekend to participate in the festivities. Among the programs were poetry readings, political discussions, orchestra concerts, and original plays � virtually all of which were set up and/or performed by members of The Family.

Also featuring prominently on the agenda were eating and drinking. Breakfasts were a buffet of all the things cardiologists tell you to avoid. One private lunch we attended served wonderful T-bone steaks. The evening cocktail hour was accompanied by hors d�oeuvres that would have been nice dinner entrees, like roasted lamb and paella. Dinners were so good that the aforementioned hors d�oeuvres didn�t overshadow them. And as for drinking, well, as we wandered from camp to camp being introduced by our host I don�t think I was ever not greeted with some variant of �Nice to meet you� followed quickly by �Can I get you something to drink?� (Generally the answer was some variant of �It�s nice to meet you too� followed quickly by �Yes!�)

After the evening program � both of the nights we were there, this consisted of a one-hour original play, complete with choreography, costumes, and makeup and accompanied by full sets, lighting, sound effects, and a pit orchestra � the camp crawling began. Various camps sponsored evening entertainment, starting at around 11 and ending well into the morning. On Saturday night we heard a guitar-playing duo covering popular music from Buck Owens to the Beatles, followed by an incredible jazz combo, followed by another jazz combo. Again, all of these groups were made up of Family members. And all of these camps had open bars, happily serving whatever you were thirsty for. It was pretty astounding.

I think my host summed it up the best � �It�s summer camp for rich men.�

With any luck I�ll be invited back again sometime. In the words of Uncle Max from The Sound of Music, �I like rich people. I like the way they live. I like the way I live when I�m with them.�

Reverse Chron

I know you guys could keep commenting on Sonic's Pickle-O's for another couple months - don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying that - but here's some new stuff to discuss, all in reverse chronological order, the most popular way to blog:

Television

Kelli wants me to review "Queer Eye For The Straight Guy." Ok, I will. It's a fabulous bit of television, a bright shining star in the summer schedule. Does the fact that I haven't actually seen the show disqualify me from writing a review?

Camping

We went camping in the local mountains last weekend. We were far enough away from Los Angeles that the sky was nice and dark and full of stars. You may have heard that Mars is closer to Earth right now than it has been in almost 60,000 years. I can attest to the fact that it is Extremely Bright right now. If you happen to be away from the city lights you should look up – that insanely bright star thingy, second only to the moon in the night sky? That’s Mars.

In other news, this weekend Cameron discovered one of the simple pleasures of being a boy. When we were hiking, he needed to go to the bathroom – and so he learned how to “water the trees.” He was most pleased. So pleased, in fact, that he asked to do it again when we got back to the campsite. Which was fine, except for the part where he needed toilet paper. To wipe his bottom with.

Yes, The Boy took a dump in the woods. Standing up. Yes, I did almost die laughing.

After this episode we took a moment to clarify what you can and can’t do when you’re “watering the trees.”

Pulp Fiction

Back to Mars. Mike is a big fan of Edgar Rice Burrough’s John Carter of Mars series. He finally printed me a copy of the first book, A Princess of Mars – it’s available at Project Gutenberg – and I was immediately hooked. It’s great anachronistic sci-fi fun, especially if you like swashbuckly heroic type stuff - and the first book would make a fabulous summer action blockbuster movie.

Missed It

I was in New York City last week for three days of meetings, meetings, and more meetings. Fortunately, we got out of town the day before the blackouts. Unfortunately, we got out of town before the blackouts – talk about bloggable moments. Mike and I would have probably just emptied out our minibars and headed across the street to Central Park.

It was a good trip – we had some great dinners and I dragged everybody down to Nat Sherman’s so I could pick up some cigars. (Rich Schmeltz gets the big shout-out for turning me on to Nat Sherman cigars.)

While we were in New York we happened to tour the set of John Edward's show “Crossing Over.” What a charlatan. I refer you to this clip, which summarizes my thoughts about Mr. Edward quite succinctly.

My favorite show on TV Land

As a broadcast television engineer, this is my favorite program on Nickelodeon’s TV Land. Hum along with the theme song while you browse the episode guide and the list of actors and characters for this compelling bit of television.

Roger Daltrey at the Bowl

A couple weeks ago some friends of ours took us to the Hollywood Bowl to see a production of My Fair Lady. The cast was fabulous – among the luminaries were John Lithgow as Professor Henry Higgins, Paxton Whitehead as Colonel Hugh Pickering (You may remember him as the snotty British business professor from Back to School), and Roger Daltrey as Mr. Doolittle, Eliza’s father.

It was a fun evening – we had box seats, which are considerably more comfortable than the bench seats from a few weeks ago – and I had the foresight to bring an extra bottle of wine. And now I can tell people that I saw Roger Daltrey perform at the Hollywood Bowl, even if Pete Townsend was nowhere in sight.

Sonic

Mmm. Sonic.

Sonic Drive-In, boasting "service with the speed of sound," is part of the folklore of my time in Weatherford. Foot long chili cheese coneys, onion rings, cherry limeades with little plastic monkeys perched on the cup, and the elusive Pickle-Os all have a special place in my heart.

Turns out there are several in Bakersfield, California - not exactly close to home but on the route to our usual camping spot in the southern Sierras.

Last weekend I insisted that we stop there for lunch on the way home. The food was exactly the way I remembered it. I thought it was great. Katy thought it was scary. Oh well. I guess that "memories + bad food = good food."

Across the street from Sonic was a quick-mart type place. It was a plain cinder block box with one door and no windows. Painted on the building, in large block letters, were three words that made up the only signage that I could see:

BAIT LIQUOR AMMO

What else could you possibly need?