Slick

The Santa Barbara Oil Spill (1969), the Exxon Valdez (1989), and now the Gulf Oil Spill (2010). The first of these halted drilling off California's cost for years; the second helped impede further drilling in 'America's Last Frontier'. Neither suspended for long the relentless need for oil; plenty of rigs can be seen off California's coast, and more drilling in Alaska is a constant conservative demand.

So what will come from this latest, perhaps the biggest, most destructive spill of all in American waters?

We can expect a horrified public supporting a temporary ban, or at least a slow-down in oil operations in the Gulf. We can expect political repercussions all through the Gulf Coast states, perhaps even giving rise to Coastal Commissions similar to the one that sprung from California's experience. We can also expect this fervor to fade as time passes with no further major spills.

We still need oil too much, and our memories are too conditional. Technology may improve every year, but we flesh and blood people are only too human. We make new mistakes, and worse, we discount the past.

Travel or Travail

One of the realities of life for many of us, is that we must at times put ourselves completely at the mercy of people who don't know us, who think of us not so much as humans, but as widgets to shuffle around. These people are able to compartmentalize us in such a way as to avoid feeling empathy when they shuffle us into places we don't want to be, for longer than we can bear.

Of course you get it - I'm speaking of the airlines here.

Taken individually, I am sure each and every person who works for airlines, right up to the CEO (and discounting the lawyers), are nice people who love their families and are kind to small animals. When functioning individually and collectively as part of an airline organization, however, they can be anything but nice - they can all be like the lawyers.

Now, it should be said that you can find some people representing the airlines who are nice to you and helpful when you need it. And when that happens it is so refreshing that it almost brings tears of gratitude to your eyes.

More typically, it's tears of barely suppressed anxiety you find welling up, as you stand in endless lines at customer service desks, or stand like a zombie staring at standby lists as your name sinks ever lower in the rankings and the available seats vaporize.

I don't want to be too negative. The airline I am currently traveling with did get me to my destination - eventually. It only took seven and a half extra hours. And it really wasn't entirely their fault. Well, one part was - a mechanical fault that grounded my original giant silver bird of transport, but mostly it was weather. But they did make the worse of a bad situation.

Oh well, such travails due engender human interaction, bringing experiences and new acquaintances, even if temporary. I did meet a couple from Brussels who were just heading home from a 5-day forced stay in San Francisco, thanks to that volcano in Iceland that no one can pronounce. Now they were stuck (but much more briefly) at O'Hare. And there were others, but the memories are fading ...

I don't feel a sense of loss though, I'll be making more friends soon - the airlines will see to that.

By the way, the airline guilty in this tale is none other than the very same one that afflicted me earlier. I just can't seem to learn from experience ...

Wasted Youth

I was bouncing around in an airport shuttle, speculating on how much kidney damage I was incurring thanks to the nonexistent suspension, when, as usual, I struck up a conversation with another suffering passenger.

"Coming home?" I asked.

"No. I'm meeting a friend here for a concert," he replied, turning in his seat to face me.

I noted his long(ish) hair and relatively youthful but matured appearance and pegged him for a grunge fan, maybe Pearl Jam. Were they still touring?

"Who are you going to see?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"It's an early nineties, band, you probably wouldn't know them, " he replied. What was I suddenly - my Dad? What did this guy think were my influences? Cheap Trick? Led Zep? Steppenwolf? Chuck Berry? Dear God, Benny Goodman?

"Try me," I prompted, scowling a bit, but slightly encouraged by the early nineties reference. Truth be told, that was the last musical period I really grokked, or thought I did anyway.

"Faith No More" he said. "My friend's coming from Albuquerque and I'm coming from Chicago. We're meeting here for three days of shows."

'Nice', I thought. But I didn't have much to say about FNM. Not my cup of tea in the 90's, and so I never followed their music (outside of whatever passed before my glazed eyes in music videos).

"Glad to hear they are still together" I offered, lamely. "I hear there's a demand for 90's nostalgia now."

"Oh yeah? I haven't heard that. My friend and I are, well, sort of musicians too, and we are big fans of the band."

I expect that last comment was an attempt to broaden the discussion, perhaps bring in his musical accomplishments. If so, it missed its mark and ricocheted off me like the van off the rumpled tarmac. I was out of any usable musical ammo. I was shooting blanks. I guess I didn't 'grok' those times enough.

Or maybe I was already too old circa 1991 for it all to properly sink in. You know the saying: "youth is wasted on the young". I guess it's relative, since clearly youth can also be wasted on the not-so-young.

I moved the conversation to other topics, gems like "does San Francisco remind you of Chicago?"

I hope the shows were all he and his friend, expected. I hope the shows made up for that ride in the van with me. I hope he and his friend recaptured a bit of their wasted youth ...

I did.

Can you say, Eyjafjallajokull?

Holy Magma, Batman, no one can!

And nobody should. To name the beast is to give it power. And the damn thing has power enough already.

A solitary vent erupting from under the ice of Iceland, in the middle of the north Atlantic ocean, the volcano-whose-name-shall-not-be-spoken has caused more disruption than most wars. Airplanes have been glued to the ground and nobody - not even the US President, is getting in or out of Europe.

Now, the question is, and this will sound a bit crackpot so hear me out, "Is this all some sort of devious Icelandic revenge for their economic plight?"

Yes, Yes, I hear the obvious incredulity, as in, "How can Iceland control the timing of a Volcano?"

But look at that country. It's just one giant plug on top of a vast leaking hole in the crust, with gazillions of tons of liquid rock and gas trying to get out. Icelanders use the heat - geothermal energy - for most of their power needs. They have a long history of tapping into - of controlling the 'beast'. Perhaps they've learned more than we know?

Ok. It's crackpot and I am grasping at straws here. My excuse is stress. Stress and envy.

You see, some people I know are 'trapped' in Paris and can't get home...

Conan the Cable Guy

The news broke yesterday that exiled NBC talent Conan O'Brien would make his return to late night on TBS. O'Brien, who has always looked to me like a Slim and Stretched version of old-time comic (and early TV star) Red Skelton, said the show will be almost exactly like his pre-Tonight NBC format.

Which could be a good thing, I guess. TBS is excited - they say Conan captures the younger demographic. I can believe it, even if the man himself does fit more with the 'I Love Leno' age group.

Apparently, no one cares about my demographic - the thick part of the boomer bulge. We're too old even for Leno - or rather, we've never gotten used to Leno replacing Carson. And Conan's entire run has been outside our normal bedtime hours. We are invisible to television programmers.

Even if I am not his demographic, I wish Conan success. He's already made a smart move by avoiding FOX, which was the network backing Chevy Chase's ill-fated late night foray. Ill-fated? It was watching career suicide.

I am sure O'Brien, savvy player that he is, will avoid any such end. He will garner his youthful viewers and hopefully keep them glued to their TV for George Lopez, who now moves to a 12 midnight slot following Conan.

I won't be watching, but I am sure someone youthful will ...

Poetry Break: Collide you Collider

That Large Hadron Thing in Cern,

the Collider, that is ...

Gave us 10 million mini-bangs

in Just One Week

- Gee Whiz!

And we are all still here,

Contrary to expectation

Nothingness was avoided

as our Final Destination ...

But they are not done yet,

No not even close

10 million more is the next dose.

Then another, and another

Until beyond all comprehension,

We'll have crammed too many universes in the 11th dimension

That bulging old thing won't hold, no not at all

And soon Up will be Down, and

We'll all take a fall.

Our width will be zero, our height will be nil

We will fit down the rabbit-hole,

With no need for a pill.

So Collide you Collider,

Over there in Cern,

Breed all the bangs you want,

We're not concerned ...

We'll take Tea with the Hatter,

We will dine with the Queen,

And visit many fine places we've never been

So Collide you Collider, somewhere in Cern

Big Bangs are just fireworks

We're not concerned ...

Journalistic Integrity

I am used to taking what 'news' I read or watch with a grain of salt, sometimes ('Fox News') even a couple pounds of salt. Heck, there is some 'news' (e.g., 'Hannity') for which I just metaphorically dive into the salty ocean and swim for the guilty pleasure of it, knowing and accepting truth will be 'stretched'.

However, some news I take seriously, as written, and as the gospel truth. For instance, I absolutely believe everything written about my favorite vehicles - motorcycles, in any one of the half-dozen magazines I read regularly.

Foolish, you may say, but I've never been given any reason to doubt.

Until now ...

I received a sizable shock to my belief system when I opened the latest issue of a leading industry magazine to find an article, titled as being a review of a newly revised motorcycle model, that was in fact a reprint of a years-old article about an earlier, but similar, model. A few pictures and captions referring to the correct new model were added, but the text was all about the older version. And there was no editorial note to introduce or explain this patch-up.

And it got me thinking. I only noticed the subterfuge because I am an avid follower of all things motorcycle, and I'd already read more than one review of the bike in question. But what if I didn't know about that model or brand of bike? What if I was new to motorcycling? I would have believed the story as written with no questions asked.

Even more concerning - those other articles in the magazine, the ones on subjects I know nothing about? How do I know if what I am reading is the truth?

You see where this is leading ... my faith is shaken.

My trust has been abused, and now I am second-guessing everything... with a veritable Bonneville of salt.