Inferno

A Saturday in August would normally be a perfect day for riding a motorcycle in the mountains east of Los Angeles. The summer temps heightening traction if you felt like rolling it on. The cooler heights promising some relief when you got there.

But the temps on Angeles Crest Highway, Big Tujunga Road, and the Angeles Forest Highway were out of control today, all three blocked by raging fires and so much like one of the circles of Hell that Dante himself would be convinced.

Moving along the freeway section of Highway 2, aiming towards La Canada and the mountains, all I could see were towering, billowing clouds of smoke and ash, resembling a volcanic eruption, Mt. St. Helen's style.

Since all of my usual paths were closed, I charted a course out Little Tujunga Road, and on through the northern canyons to the Rock Inn at Lake Hughes. As I made my way along technical and involving Little Tujunga, the fires looked far away. But the smoke grew close at times farther along the ride, getting so thick with angry reds and blacks mixed in the gray that I appeared to be riding toward some outer wall of hell. Each time I got close enough to consider turning around the road would bend and send me off towards clearer skies.

The time at the Rock Inn was as pleasant as ever, only with fewer bikes and riders than a normal Saturday would show. The return ride was fine too - that is, until I returned to Little Tujunga.

In the short time since I'd passed that way, the fires had moved closer and the authorities had closed the road. A friendly CHP cruiser was parked across my chosen path, forcing a detour over to Highway 14. Looking hard in the distance I couldn't see any fires or smoke, but the officer was insistent.

The humdrum freeway detour towards home was filled with sights of burning hillsides and flames visible in broad daylight that must have been 50 feet high. Fire-lines crept visibly closer towards homes and the wind was picking up.

An Inferno. One that wasn't through - that perhaps had only begun.

Air Time

John Denver once sang, 'It's a Long Way from LA to Denver. It's a Long Time to Hang in the Sky' (Starwood in Aspen).

He didn't know the half of it...

Try 14 hours LA to Sydney - and 13 back.

Even for the lucky few ensconced in their luxury first class 'pods', that much time on an airplane is a chore. For those of us in the 'herd' corralled in economy, it's like hanging on the outskirts of purgatory peering at hell.

Or, it would be, if the flight attendants weren't so nice, and if their airline wasn't thoughtful enough to supply sufficient movies, TV, and games to keep you distracted.

At any given moment of the flight, even we peons had plenty to watch and to drink. Eating, though, was more challenging and sporadic outside the two meals served, unless you craved 'cornsticks' and cookies. I managed to stow away a reasonable tonnage of those items, so I remained satisfied, but I saw others contemplating the 'snack rack' and ultimately deciding their long-term health was more important than short-term hunger. Everyone has their priorities.

One new item of amusement I'd never seen before was the 'skycam'. It was a camera perched on the tail of our plane - a relatively new Airbus 380, and it gave an interesting view of takeoff and landing. In the middle of the night, if you needed reassurance that all was well, checking the skycam provided a comforting view of a blinking light in the darkness, each blink like the zap of a pacemaker letting us know the plane (and we) were alive and well.

One familiar item I glanced at - then avoided like the plague - was the 'flight path' map. Knowing I was flying with my fellow passengers over so much uninhabited ocean made me feel vulnerable. I've seen Lost (and didn't like it). Of course, you are just as 'vulnerable' when flying over land, but at a lower gut level the difference was keenly felt.

As our plane lifted off from Sydney, I caught a glimpse of fires burning outside the city. The smoke was white, so I'd like to think they were controlled burns, but you never know, Sydney was windy. We arrived at Los Angeles flying over and through the haze from fires, none controlled, burning in the mountains east of the city. When I got home and checked the news I found that one of the fires was wrecking havoc along one of my favorite motorcycling roads.

I also learned that another 'Goodbye' was in order, for Edward 'Ted' Kennedy.

Sad sights and sadder news to end such a long time in the air ...

News You Can Use (If you pay for it)

Inside the business section of a local Sydney paper I found a tiny article on a big subject: how can newspapers survive the digital age? Homeboy Rupert Murdoch thinks he knows the answer to that angst-inducing query.

Apparently, the mega-mogul is rounding up a consortium of paper media concerns with on-line presence, with the goal of orchestrating a near-simultaneous roll-out of pay-for-view. He wants all on-line 'newspapers' to charge for access to content, and he wants them to do it in lock-step to give the customer no choice but to pony up.

I can see the logic in it. And the panic. Newspapers are losing subscribers faster than the tundra is thawing in Nome. Worse still, advertisers have flown the coup seeking cheaper venues in these recessionary times. Meanwhile, more and more (read: millions) are now getting at least some of their news on-line, and not paying a dime.

So why not make them pay a little for the privilege and convenience?

That's a reasonable question, but it bothers me that Rupert Murdoch is attempting the answer. If there were anyone on this planet I'd rather NOT have leading this charge, it's the Mandarin from Down Under. Having single-handedly reduced the diversity in printed and televised news by buying up damn near everything he could, why should anyone trust Mr. Monopoly with this initiative?

It may be inevitable that internet news be a mix of free and pay-to-view, but that balance will be delicate, and needs an unbiased guide to its fruition. Mr. Murdoch is about as biased as you can get.

Babbleocity 25 (Live From Sydney)

On the road in Sydney, Australia ...

The 'Sybility' of Sydney - I was prepared for something entirely different, but this city has surprised me with it's vigor and variety. The place is positively bustling and seems determined to pack a piece of every interesting city on Earth into it's lovely spaces. If pushed to compare Sydney to anywhere else, I'd reply it was a mix of Seattle and San Francisco, with a seasoning of New York and a touch of Portland, Oregon. Add to that recipe a laid back Southern California feel and you'd just about have it. Of course, although it can be thought of as a city of many personalities, it has its own character - an international hub where vibrant Asian culture meets the best of Australia, the Americas, and Europe.

Two wheels down under - My impression that Sydney was spiritually connected to San Francisco was further heightened by the amount of motorcycles and scooters tooling about the town. Anyone who has visited our 'City By The Bay' has noted how many of its denizens make their way on two wheels. The same is true here. And the connection is even cannier: In San Francisco Ducatis dominate the motorcycle scenery, especially the 'Monster' models. These distinctive machines make up a significant percentage here too. You may or may not love their motorcycles (I do), but you have to give it to the Italians - they know how to spread the love around...

All creatures great and weird - My early years were spent in academic pursuit of biological knowledge. Life and time has taken me in other directions, but I've maintained an interest through hobbies like SCUBA diving, and through the maintenance of a variety of unusual pets over the years. Visiting Australia has reinforced that interest. One of the first sights on arriving was a couple of sulfur-crested cockatoos feeding on a lawn. Not in captivity, but free to fly where they will. Another odd sight was my first live look at a platypus. Actually two of the oddball but engaging creatures were on display at the Sydney Aquarium, along with a saltwater crocodile (Steve Irwin was truly brave and nuts), some nice sharks and rays, and a pair of dugongs, the saltwater versions of manatees. The dugongs truly floored me with their unexpected beauty. Much sleeker and with more dolphin-like tails than manatees, they moved with fluid grace but still had the sad and soulful look of their freshwater cousins. Well worth a long look if you are visiting.

The Wild West (aka New Hampshire)

The hardcore conservative element in this country has turned a corner and walked about 10 yards into thin air, suspended over a deep canyon, Wile E. Coyote style. The only thing holding them up is the energy generated by publicity from cable news coverage.

Who among gun users, even the most ardent hunters, sports marksmen, police, or professional soldiers, would consider displaying a loaded firearm at a Presidential appearance? You would have to be either off your rocker, suicidal, or a publicity-seeking fringe republican-guided human missile (i.e., 'patsy').

OK, so it's a Right for Americans to bear arms. Great. But Rights must be exercised responsibly. Rights like firearm ownership are granted by society - by the will of the people as expressed through government, and can be removed if misused. And I would think packing at a presidential party would reasonably fall within the definition of 'misuse' - at the very least it's 'use of guns without the full engagement of brains and with a total lapse of common sense'.

And who among the millions of dedicated public servants would allow someone so obviously out to cause trouble to pack heat during the President's visit - to cause trouble? In the Wild Wild West, patrons of certain social establishments were required to check their firearms at the door. There were, even in those 'free' times, restrictions on Rights. In New Hampshire, those restrictions don't extend to protesters with loaded guns who just may have a bone to pick with the President.

So how determined to wreck health care reform must the republican right be? They can't win on merit, so they make the whole thing about perceived erosion of rights, and egg on the gun nuts to make a crude point at a public meeting. That's 10 yards over the abyss folks, and it's a long way down.

They Can Sense Your Fear

Something about being cornered and on the defensive causes us to reek of fear and distress, lending our enemies an extra dollop of bravery and aggression.

Too bad then, that right now, when conservative scare mongers need a good whupping on the nose with a rolled-up copy of the health care reform bill, President Obama and his suddenly-shaky band are backpedaling.

Yes, even Barack Obama is vulnerable to the incessant shouting of dumbed-down, scary sound bites to the masses. The Republican conservative fringe have been successful in rousing the rabble (good, honest, American rabble to be sure, but sadly misled and uninformed), and Mr. Obama seems weary of the struggle.

We can only hope the President can take a breather and come back fighting. We need him to win this thing for us, whether all of us know it or not.

Poetry Break - Goodbye, Mr. Paul

Goodbye, Mr. Paul

(Les was definitely more)

You and Leo gave us

A thing we all adore

The electric guitar

beautiful noise

singing, shrieking

seeking our core

Without you

No Monterey

No Woodstock

(and many more)

Without you

No Hendrix

No Clapton

No, well, you name 'em

(there's too many for that chore)

A long and good life

Immortalized in mahogany

White (House) Noise

The cover of a recent New York magazine shows a broadly smiling President Obama over the title 'The Selling (and Selling and Selling) of the President', subtitled 'Barack Obama's Pulpit Presidency'. Not satisfied with two labels, the magazine gave us another inside the pages (and online) - 'The Message is The Message'.

The article is an interesting read, but there's a worrisome subtext within the main theme: The President Talks Too Much.

I've given my reasons why this may be a necessary evil in a previous blog. Mr. Obama may believe he has to do as much as possible while the political will to do it persists, while the wind of good will fills his sails.

As pointed out in the New York article, however, too much talking and pushing of agendas may backfire. The withering assault of daily presidential press releases might just turn people off the message entirely.

There is evidence this may be already happening. Just witness the 'debate' at those now-infamous health care town hall meetings. Not a few of the protesters at those events seem to believe health care reform is just the vanguard of changes that will remake their America into something unrecognizable. They don't know what it is, and they can't articulate specifics of their fears, but they are sure it will be BAD. They are overwhelmed, and perfect tools of the conservative opposition as a result.

Conservative pundits fan the flames of uncertainty with unsupportable accusations, or they let grass roots falsehoods develop without stepping in to stop them. One example: President Obama's goal is to become our dictator - or 'Presentator' as I've heard a conservative acquaintance call him. Ridiculous right? Not to some who can't handle what seems like too much too soon. With the goading or (at best) acquiescence of conservative pundits, they translate Obama's urgency and energy into lust for power and evil intent.

Perhaps it's time that the President and his team give some thought to presenting a more stable, thoughtful, patient image. A little less inspirational motivator and a little more calm counselor might be in order. Anything to take ammunition away from those who's main agenda is to remove him from office and perpetuate the Bush era and ethos. If they succeed in convincing enough Americans that Obama wants to be 'Presentator', the awful rebound could see us in the hands of a fascist conservative regime the likes of which haven't been seen for 60 years. Think Germany after the fall of the Weimar Republic, and you begin to see the risk.

Our Buddy Jupiter

What on Earth would Earth do without Jupiter?

Our giant gas-ball solar neighbor took another bullet for us recently when it attracted and absorbed a shot from a 1 kilometer-wide space rock. Impressive stuff to look at through a telescope, and a good job done by the Big Guy.

After all, if not for Jupiter, that chunk of asteroid (or cometary debris) might have kept on sailing until it hit little 'ol Earth. Think too, about Comet Shoemaker-Levy and the pasting it's bits gave Jupiter some years ago and consider what that might have done to us. I'll make it easy - at best I would be chiseling this blog on clay tablets.

It's especially critical that 'Big J' was there to help, since our professional scientist-astronomers missed the ball completely.

Our sci-boys are trying to find and track all large (1 kilometer or larger) near earth objects (NEOs). So far they've found 784. Cool - but they think there's at least 100 more they haven't found yet. Like the one that hit Jupiter. Not so cool. If not for a dedicated amateur sky-gazer we wouldn't have even known about the impact. Which means if that rock had been shooting at Earth I wouldn't of had time to get out the lawn chair and appropriate refreshments to watch the show. Or perhaps to put on my peril-sensitive sunglasses ...

So, the next time you think about our buddy Jupiter (you do think about the planets don't you? It's easy, we're down to 8) remember to give appropriate thanks for covering our lovely blue terrestrial tush.

Babble-On 24

A few more 'Goodbyes' ...

Mr. News - It's been a while and I still can't wrap my mind around a world without Walter Cronkite. Growing up he was always my favorite, even if early on I'd confuse him with 'Captain Kangaroo', who wasn't my first choice of cartoon show host. Cronkite gave the news dignity and objectivity, and you always felt you could trust him to be truthful. Thinking back, the same could really be said about many of his competitors, it's just he seemed to stand a foot taller than the rest somehow. He had been gone from the news scene for a long time before his death, and his absence was felt deeply. Now he's gone for good, we are left with an unpalatable, if marketable, mix of biased cable news and eviscerated broadcast coverage.

Mr. Hughes - Back in the 80's, watching one of John Hughes' over-sentimental comedies, I assured myself I wouldn't miss his work, if it disappeared into a smoking pile of celluloid chips. I have lived to eat my words. Long before his recent death, I had come to miss the man's movies big time. No one since has quite captured that dicey combination of the energy of sweet youth, a growing (and burdensome) awareness of responsibility, and the shield of ironic absurdity, that is growing up middle-class in America. Everyone remembers 'Ferris Bueller's Day Off', but I pick 'Planes, Trains, and Automobiles' as the best of the bunch, even with that smarmy ending. So Long, John ...

And the Big Dealer - I've read several histories of the Rolling Stones, and all feature Allen Klein as a principal figure in the band's Altamont-era career. Aside from allegedly being a bit too Machiavellian, a lot too greedy, and not entirely trustworthy, Mr. Klein could be an astute businessman, and served as, if not the model (that would be Colonel Tom Parker), the archetype of the wheeling-dealing agent who could get anything for his clients.

HealthCare: The Sniff Test

I have always tried to temper my natural curiosity with the principle, 'if it smells bad avoid it'. I think this is a winning principle. OK, there are things that smell horrible yet actually are good, like some kinds of sushi, but they are the minority. Using foul-smells as a clue to inherent rottenness is most often the correct plan.

The current state of health care in this country does not pass the sniff test. It smells off, in Oh So Many Ways. But, like sushi, there are some bits of it that are really good. It's just those good bits are immersed in a larger vat of past-prime detritus.

For example, it's very true that you can get the most advanced treatments and get them relatively quickly, right here in the US. But it's also true that not everyone has access to this quality care, and those that do can be charged outrageous sums for the privilege. They can also be denied coverage or dropped completely. That Stinks!

If you have a job with health insurance, it's true the cost is usually manageable. But if you lose that job, the cost of carrying that coverage on your own can be overwhelming. If you get another job, you will likely change insurance providers and need to find a different doctor. If you've had a recent history of health problems (i.e., 'pre-existing conditions') you may not get coverage at all. That Stinks!

If you are really, really poor in this country you can line up at the nearest publicly-subsidized hospital emergency room and get 'free' care. Of course, such facilities are thin on the ground and getting scarcer. If you are wealthy or have an employer who provides quality coverage, you can get service at many places. If you are in the middle, you have to take whatever you can get, which might not be enough when you need it the most. That Stinks!

All of which is to say, healthcare as it currently exists in America is a very mixed bag of sushi.

If you are wealthy, or continuously employed, poor enough to qualify for what public assistance now exists, have survived long enough to receive Medicare (a publicly subsidized, single-payor system), or are just one of those healthy, never-get-sick people, you may not 'smell' a problem. That makes you the prime audience for the opponents of health care reform. Because you haven't had to swallow bad medicine yet, they can spin you a tale of socialism and inefficiency, a tale of limited options and choice. That Stinks!

However, most of us are neither wealthy enough nor poor enough to always have quality health insurance coverage. In times of recession, we may not have jobs to provide it, and paying for coverage ourselves may be too much a burden. Or impossible, even. We may have pre-existing conditions or chronic problems that may lead to denied coverage. Some of us may watch helplessly as loved ones suffer and die from conditions that aren't treated for lack of health insurance. It might even happen to us. That Stinks!

From the day we are born until the time we can get on Medicare (long may it last), most of us depend on stable, insurance providing jobs, or a complex patchwork of under-funded, over-utilized, public programs to fix us when we break. All too often this amalgam fails us, and we stay broken or have to take what substandard healing we can get, wherever we can get it.

And that, folks, does not pass the sniff test. That Stinks!

Muddying The Waters of Reform

A relative sent me an email the other day, with the disturbing news that her health insurance coverage was going up to almost $1400 per month - just for her alone. She makes minimum wage - barely - and only part-time so her company contributes nothing. That's painful mathematics.

Weird thing is, I received another email from her that included a knock on 'Obama Care'; about how she'd rather work till she dropped than have 'Obama's government' tell her which doctor to see and what treatments she could have.

Here is a woman who has nothing to lose and everything to gain by a change in our health system, but she's defending the status quo. The forces aligned against the current health reform initiative are talented at spreading uncertainty - and fear. They are expert at muddying the waters when clarity is required for all who must decide our course - and that includes us, the taxpayers and health care consumers.

It is gutting to see how effective political smear and misinformation campaigns can be, when backed by 'interested parties' and executed by those without conscience.

Poetry Break: Intersections

Our Universe is Crossing Paths

Intersections of matter and time

Fate and Destiny

A tiny seed grows into a Tree

that blocks the Sun

A simple errand ends a life

Perhaps one day our Earth will intersect a great comet

Perhaps that left-turning truck at the next intersection has your name on it

Our Universe is Crossing Paths

Intersections of matter, timed without our knowledge

Our Fate a Game