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24
Aug 26

And so begins the last week of summer

The penultimate weekend. There should be something grand here, but there’s not. At least the last weekend of summer has plans. I think I’d rather have the plans this weekend and nothing next weekend, but the people that schedule big citywide events don’t ask me these things.

It’s nice not being asked a lot of things. But if you never get asked things you can’t have input. It’s a tradeoff. And of all of the tradeoffs we make in life, many of them are worse than that. Still, if someone asked your thoughts, you might think your thoughts had value. You might think you could maybe contribute in some way. You might think it was appreciated, what you had to offer. Cities should ask your thoughts on when they schedule big events is all I’m saying. If I am, in fact, talking about cities.

And of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be? There’s a huge cycling event next weekend and we’ll be there to see it. Guess what photos I’ll be showing you this time next week.

Today, though, it’s just the usual from around here. For instance. Like many of you, I am a newly minted Internet Ancient Greek scholar. And, finally, we went to watch The Odyssey. Knowing I’d have some important thoughts in line with my public scholarship I dressed for the occasion.

These were my thoughts: the movie was very loud. I’d like to see it again, a version without the score. Also, it was a good movie. On the other hand, I’m not sure it met the hype. On the third hand, how you can you live up to an epic. On the fourth hand, it was still sweeping and grandiose. It was also a good set of cast members, but on the fifth hand — five hands, what am I, one of Zeus’ misbegotten offspring? — not everyone seemed well cast. On the sixth hand, I don’t think this movie will age much better than the Romans-with-English-accents era of 1950s and 1960s cinema.

Also, I really would have liked to have heard the siren’s song. You’re going to eventually tell me that the Trojan horse was some iconic visual element, you’re going to go long (and rightly so!) on the great pains to be authentic with clothing and brag about the visual effects, you could give me the siren’s song.

It’s been a long time since I read The Odyssey. I think we read portions of it in high school. In an undergrad literature class I read The Iliad and the Odyssey. I’m not sure — because time makes me forget things — if the professor was truly an expert in the Greek classics or she was just covering bases, but if I had that to do over again I’d insist. Epics of the western culture demand expertise, I’d say, so that I will be better prepared to comment on this after I see a movie in a few decades. But with that in mind, this. The movie changes Homer’s story. That’s fine. It’s art. And also it was an oral tradition. Things change. If you want Homer, read Homer. If you can’t read Greek, get in your time machine and … well, yeah, that’s still a problem. Fine, there are several dozen English versions in part or in toto. I think one was written by someone who doesn’t write English. E.V. Reiu’s translation in the 1940s was the first. Richard Lattimore’s translation is well regarded for accuracy. The relatively recent work of Emily Wilson’s is an excellent version for people new to Homer — she is also the one catching a lot of social media broadsides. Go figure. Anyway, the changes itself aren’t bad. People will quibble with how some of the changes come about. And as I am realistic about the Homeric question — probably there’s more than one author, certainly the story changes over time, also, and this is important … it’s fantasy I’m OK with the descent into madness version here. It has been a long while since our last film that was universally regarded as a descent into madness theme.

Or was that just the woofers in my theater?

I set out Sunday afternoon for a moderately different route. The river run is a simple out-and-back to the river and it gives you a steady 15 miles — yep, 15 miles, every time — and you’re back in the neighborhood in 45 or 50 minutes. But the weather was nice and I figured I’d try a different road. It starts like this. When you get to the river you can turn left or right. Usually, we turn left. But I’ve gone the other way a few times, just for variety. And when I go to the right I take the first right, effectively doubling back with two-plus extra miles for the effort.

But, I thought, what happens if I turn right … and don’t take that first right. So, yesterday I took the second right. I chose this one because I looked at it on a map beforehand and the street name has something to do with tall climbs. There are none of those around here. In fact, at one point on the river road you are three feet below sea level. Well, let’s see what’s on that road. It is the usual array of warehouses, which are the state flower. Also, these guys.

Hey, there’s the hill the road sign was talking about. Actually, it’s a five-mile road (and I was only punish passed twice) and there are four of these hills. You might call them rollers. By the end of the road which was so boastful of its hills I’d climbed about 120 feet.

I’m not judging. I’m merely pointing out that the terrain here is flat. I’m faster on flat roads than I used to be, but I probably couldn’t get over a proper climb without a tow rope anymore. (I did two big hills in Switzerland last summer, first climb in a few years, and it felt exactly as I remembered. My chain and derailleur fell apart before I could complete the whole hilly route, however.)

Anyway, back home, and I finished up the work on this rough little piece. I used my new brad nailer to mount these little bits as shelves. It’s garage furniture, I cut once and then measured twice, and this will get the job done.

I’ll make another version that’s smaller and neater, one day. I have already mapped out the plans in my mind. For now, I just have to attach the cleat to the back of this one and put it on the wall. But fun like that you have to spread out over several days. We’re not totally uninhibited.

Here’s the view, last night, as I took out the garbage. It’s about midnight.

Believe it or not, there are three planes in that shot. One of them flew directly overhead, and had no ADS-B transponder signal. It came from Washington D.C. Those tracker apps are such great fun, and the flights without all of the information might be the most fun of all. Sure, that one plane is going to Boston and the other to Florida, but the mystery of this plane, that’s loads of fun.

Speaking of fun, the first meeting of the semester is tomorrow. We’re easing into things with a six-hour effort.

adventures / Monday / movies / photo — Comments Off
15
Dec 25

No fingers were (seriously) hurt in the production of this post

I was overdue for a trip to the inconvenience center. We take our recycling there. Cardboard in these bins, mixed recyclables in those bins, and so on. I also had to drop off four deck chairs. We inherited with the place, who knows how long they’ve been here, but at the end of a third summer with us, they were showing their age. The fabric was tearing from the aluminum frames, and we upgraded with nature’s IKEA, wicker chairs.

I’d asked the man that runs the place if he would take them, and he, a man of few words, pointed me to this other bin. I said they were aluminum. He pointed to that bin. I said they also had a fabric covering. He pointed to that bin. So, unless he was telling me to jump in the thing, I took that as permission. That was my last visit, some weeks ago. And today was the day. Only, the chairs filled up the vehicle. And we still had the two large containers of recyclables and a small factory’s worth of cardboard we’ve accumulated in the last couple of months, plus some that had been hiding from me in the basement. After some time, we managed to get everything inside, as I despaired over taking multiple trips. It is only an inconvenience center because it is across town. But, eventually everything was ready to travel, and I wished away every police officer between here and there. Surely I was breaking some ordinances about safe transit. Some of the windows could not be used for defensive driving.

As soon as I got to the place, I realized I did not have the community hang tag. There’s a big blinking sign, everyone must present their tag. Mine was in the other car, hanging, helpfully, from the rear view mirror. So I got into the place, backed in as you’re supposed to, and then hustled. Cardboard, cardboard, cardboard, all thankfully broken down already. One tub of mixed recyclables in, a second one turned over and dumped into the giant bin. We are really saving the earth today. By this time, a few other cars and trucks have come in to do their bit for the planet, and now I have to weave around them.

I manhandled these four deck chairs at one time. Not heavy, but ungainly as a one-person job. Plus there’s the bobbing and weaving around Old Man Coveralls who is doing his work. As I got to the bins for the chairs, the one the man pointed at weeks ago, I realized that I needed to readjust my grip so that I could heave and/or ho. This was the point where I pinched two fingers on my right hand. Earlier in this choir I’d pinched the ring finger. It hurt. Here I pinched the middle and index finger. It was one of those slow motion things. I had time to silently say goodbye to the tips of my fingers, thank them for their help over the years, and wish them well.

Before I had time to contemplate life without the top part of two fingers, though, I was able to readjust the chairs, sit them down, and relieve the unforgiving grip of metal on skin on metal.

Chairs deposited. Fingers OK. Hang tag never requested.

That was Saturday morning. Saturday evening we went to the cinema to watch a movie about propaganda, power, and epistemology.

Here’s my review: not as good as the first one, but the story needed to be completed. In fact, in a less cynical and more artistic world they’d just combined the two and call it a terrific movie. I love that these two movies were so devoted to practical effects. Everyone involved was obviously having a great time with their work. I love the way we portray what we think the 1930s thought the future would look like.

I’m still not certain how a hallucination has prequels.

Saturday night, into Sunday morning, we had snow. This is the view from the wee hours, as I was going to bed, thinking about getting up early to go outside. Unless it melted!

It did not melt. It was a fat, heavy snow. We had six inches and change when we went outside. It was still snowing. A few passes with the shovel proved that this job called for the snow blower. So, glad that I retrieved it from the shed yesterday, I filled it with oil, filled it with gas, and we cleaned the drive, so my lovely bride could get out of the house.

She was back before I finished the job, because the roads beyond were still impassable at the time.

All of the roads looked much better by the afternoon. And the sky cleared up beautifully. It was the perfect way to see the snow, from indoors.

The problem becomes the next few days of harsh temperatures. But, hey, I’m inside and warm and the driveway is clear. I’m not sure what else I can worry about right now.

Oh yes, the packing. And winter travel. I’m taking the rest of the week off from the site. Family time begins, though the work continues. I will see you here dashing, and dancing, on Dec. 22nd.

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1
Jul 25

We are back

We woke up early. We got on the plane at Heathrow, our last long walk of the trip, which was punctuated by two long walks through the Milano airport after gate changes. And, sure, you have to get off the plane and through the U.S. Customs checkpoints, but the airport walk on the way back home never feels that long.

The march to the plane, however, that can take a while.

The airport security staff confiscated my toothpaste, apologetically. Too big, by volume, despite having made it to and through Heathrow on the way over. Ah well, if that’s the worst part of the day …

We were in Club World on British Airways, which means you get your own little pod, which means the seats lay all the way back, and also that you get more attention on a six or eight hour flight than anyone needs. I just wanted to watch the movies.

First up, Mickey 17, which was highly anticipated by fans of the book, of which I’d never heard. I think they missed. It was Douglas Adams without the funny. But Robert Pattinson wasn’t bad.

I got through about four minutes of the Tom Hanks movie, “Here,” and decided I wasn’t willing to watch that on a plane.

So I watched The Amateur, which is exactly what you imagined after seeing the trailer.

Now I suppose I’ll have to watch the 1981 version, for comparison’s sake.

For the last leg of the trip, and I couldn’t time this much better, I managed to just sneak in all of Oppenheimer. First time I’ve watched it; not sure why it took so long. Pretty sure I need to see it again, if nothing else to improve the audio. Probably there are some interesting historical tidbits I missed as well.

If I may trade heavily, and unfairly, on both stereotypes, I’m not really sure how the Barbieheimer summer worked. The crossover just seems so farfetched. (Then again, Barbie was fine, and this is a Christopher Nolan masterpiece. Or Barbie was a feminist signpost and this was a Christopher Nolan masterpiece. So what do I know?)

Anyway, the plane landed on time. We made it through customs with no problem. The luggage collected, the last walk of the trip was through the airport. My in-laws went this way to meet their driver. We went that way to get to an Uber which took us to our car, and then back home.

And now I’m going to sleep for two, maybe three days.

So this is it for the week. More here Monday. Until then!

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17
Jun 25

Big ol’ jet airliner

Yep, that’s me. I’m sitting over a wing. The better to ensure there are no monsters out there. You might be asking yourself how I got here — by car. You might be asking yourself why I am referring to “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet,” which turns 62 years old this fall — it is still terrifying, but for different reasons. But the questions you should be asking: Where are you going? And: “What did you watch along the way?”

I’ll give you a day or two to figure out the answer to the first question. And I’ll give you a very small and indirect hint with the answers to the second question.

First, I watched “Captain America: Brave New World.”

It could have been better, but they were working from a thin comic book concept here. Anthony Mackie deserves better. And how Harrison Ford got involved will remain a mystery. Indeed, it is the copy book of MCU movies.

So, in other words, a good airplane movie. Passed the time. Filed it away. Pleased I didn’t spend time that could have been better spent doing or watching anything else.

Which brings us to our second film of the flight. And, again, Honest Trailer nails it.

There are pumpkins in North Africa, expressions some 1700 years before the technology that prompted them was invented and a newspaper in ancient Rome, where no history is observed.

Look, there are several reasons one makes a movie. Fan service, the box office, high art, or marketing overreach. Others are misguided movie execs, to right a wrong or wrong a right. One of those reasons is “to give Ridley Scott something to do,” and this film is that.

Anyway, the plane has safely landed. And if you’re plotting runtime to try to determine where I am, or otherwise trying to glean some information from the photo above, let me tell you I also watched the first episode of 1923 to complete the flight. We have arrived at our lodgings. Now we fight off the temptation to sleep — didn’t do that on the plane, as usual — so that we may laughingly ward off jet lag.

Tomorrow: more hints.

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16
Jan 25

One Short Day

Because everything is lining up, and because it was cold and all of the little people are back in school we went to the movies and caught a matinee. I’ll give you one guess what we saw.

We saw the play, in London in 2015. It was one of those things where we had an afternoon, and were probably ready for an evening that moved at a regular pace, and so we walked over to the ticket booth where you can get late tickets inexpensively. One of the options was Wicked, and so we enjoyed that on the West End. This was the curtain.

The movie, part one, is what movies should be: a lot of fun. Most of what you saw were practical effects. The tulips were plentiful. The costumes were fantastic. They were, perhaps, the element most to the original, with just enough modern post-dystopian steampunk flare to pop in high definition.

Apparently the singing was done live. Sometimes that seemed obvious, not in a bad way. And other times it seemed incredibly impractical. Ga-linda is terrible. Ariana Grande is great in the role, but the character is terrible. Cynthia Erivo is so wonderful it’s difficult, even knowing the play, to imagine how they turn her from protagonist to antagonist in the second movie.

Kristin Chenoweth and Idina Menzel, who originated the protagonist and deuteragonist on stage, have small parts. I said it’s a shame that no one is still left from the Wizard of Oz that they could drop in somewhere. But I said that in the car, without looking this up. According to People, there were three surviving cast members still with us late last year, 84 years later!

My one problem — aside from the standard musical issue that at least one song is weaker than the rest — is that someone brings into a classroom this new invention, they call it a “cage” and, in it, the animals will be kept, so they can be held in their natural condition. Which is to say, without a voice. (A lot of that element of the movie seems pointed and modern.) But here are people with bicycles, electricity, the most over-engineered train in the world and the coolest library ever, but they’ve only just invented cages?

I suppose the order of development means a lot in a fictional society, too.

Anyway, it’s a fine movie. Watch Wizard of Oz again before you see Wicked. You’ll find more of the Easter eggs that way.

It was snowing when we left the theater.

That’s just beginning of a week-and-a-half of actual winter. I bet they never have to deal with that in Emerald City. The wizard probably takes care of it.

I had a perfectly uninspiring 38-mile bike ride this evening. I averaged about 20 miles an hour, and near the end I thought, I should grab an image. Just then I was riding here.

And that fit. That’s how impressive the ride was. You might think my little Zwift avatar is riding through a cave there, but no. No, he is riding to his death. Death by asphyxiation, for he is riding through the heart of a volcano. And, surely, while holding a 24 mile per hour pace through the thing my avatar would be breathing hard, and pulling in more sulfur than anything.

Volcanoes vary, but the gases they produce are primarily water vapor, carbon dioxide, sulfur dioxide (SO2), hydrogen sulfide (H2S), nitrogen, argon, helium, neon, methane, carbon monoxide and hydrogen.

No way my guy lives through that, right?

He’s probably got a better shot at being safely whisked away to Oz.