Woodstock Memories

Thoughts after watching 'Woodstock, Then And Now' ...

Proximity - I was far away in California and just a little too young for my parents to allow me the freedom to cross the country without them, but I am not sure I would have gone anyway. If I had heard, as many did, that the roads were packed and it was impossible to get through, I doubt I would have tried. I may have been in that generation, but I didn't share the need to congregate in large numbers. To me that was Lemming, not Communal, behavior. My loss as it turns out, although I've seen enough of the festival on film that I almost feel 'muddy'. As noted in the documentary many who've seen the film actually think they were present on Yasgur's Farm. It's true, my filmic memories are almost real, and that's appropriate for the first generation raised on TV. I still share, though, with most of my brother and sister children of the 60s, that nagging feeling that I should have been there, at the one time that young humans proved in mass they could do something better than their parents, than the 'establishment'.

Genius - It's easy to get carried away as a fan and think your particular musical 'God' is the highest of the high. Time usually rips the rosy scales off eyes and restores critical balance. Not so when it comes to Jimi Hendrix. If anything, the talent shining forth on that last Woodstock day is even more astounding when viewed today. Has anyone ever played a guitar with such integration of hand and wood, of strings and heart?

Age - We are all deniers of death and the growing weight of years. The 'Woodstock' Generation has taken this to great heights, avidly seeking the services of plastic surgeons and fitness gurus to rage against the dying of the light. Interesting then, to see how many of the particulars of the Woodstock saga have faired. Some have aged into a different look entirely, with just a family resemblance to their younger selves. Others look familiar, only ravaged a bit. A few look eerily identical, with just a gray hair here and a jowl there to give away the game. Of course, many have passed on, some early from pursuit of the Aquarian pleasures of the time, most from all the common and tragic ills and risks that beset us. I know that watching the documentary took me back to that Drive-In at which I first saw the original film. To the time I saw Alvin Lee 40 feet high, fingers blazing and singing about 'Goin' Home'. It connected me to my young self, yet reinforced the gulf of time.

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.