What's Hiding In The Attic

While sorting through my belongings in preparation for my November move, I sometimes run across an oddity or two that has me thinking, “When did I get this, and more importantly, why?” That got me to thinking even more, (a dangerous activity in its own right), about some items I could have fun with if I encountered them, and even more so if they actually existed. Think of the possibilities if buried in your life's treasures was s box full of baseball size canisters labeled “Small Scalable Thermonuclear Device (SSTD).”The only settings would be the size of the explosion, from say a minuscule .001 kilotons, (useful for serious gutter cleaning), to a more respectable 1 kiloton, (effective for clearing out late staying guests at a large and unruly party). Of course the other setting would be a timer allowing you to be safely out of the way so you can enjoy the aftereffects from a safe distance.

Personally, I can think of many uses for such a device. For a start, though I am a lifelong Cal football fan, I would still refrain from tossing one into the huddles of the opposing team since I do believe in fair play and sportsmanship. However, halftime shows at Cal by either the University of Southern California or worse, Stanford, marching bands would be short lived, and would bring thunderous applause from almost everyone else at the stadium. As an aside, I remember talking to a USC fan once who confessed their own band drives their fans crazy by playing the same song every fifteen seconds during a game. Stanford's band meanwhile has the distinction of not only being a total embarrassment to what even the most diehard Cal fan will admit is an outstanding academic institution, but they bear the stigma of being what must be the only college band to have once been banned from their own stadium.

Another use, instant large scale barbecue. Why fiddle and fuss with a grill when you can pile all the food in a barbecue pit, toss in an SSTD, (don't forget the proper settings or your neighbors won't be amused, though if you hate your neighbors just pass it off as a little oopsie), and in a flash, literally, everything is cooked to perfection. Just be careful if the source of your steaks is still on the hoof and the rancher who owns them employs sharpshooters beyond the range of your SSTD.

You can also use them for instant respect. Say you find yourself in a rough looking bar. On your left a tough looking character pulls out a knife. On your right an even meaner looking dude is polishing a .357 Magnum. Casually take out an SSTD and set it in front of you. You'll never have to pay for a drink again.

The uses go on and on. Removing tree stumps. Removing whole trees. Removing whole trees and tree sitters, (what a wonderful thought for the ones still infest Berkeley). Digging out the hole for a swimming pool. Better yet, digging out the hole for an oil well considering current prices. Playing fetch with a neighbor’s nervous, yapping, peanut sized dog. Applying a permanent solution to your computer after the over seas call center gave you bad advice, (sending one to the overseas call center might have some nasty political ramifications however).

Oh the possibilities.

Enlightenment Through Dim Sum

One thing I will genuinely miss about San Francisco is Chinatown. Every sense of the human body is constantly stimulated by even a casual stroll through it. I have a passion for Chinese art, and after a bit of poking past the rather tacky touristy offerings, have found shops selling genuine supplies as well as excellent art works. The food shops are something else, offering fruits, vegetables and meat, fish and poultry that are amazing in their variety, even if I don’t have a clue as to what most of them are.

For eating establishments the area can’t be beat. My favorite is a Dim Sum place called the Hang Ah. A friend and I discovered it, tucked down an alley, back when we were in high school. He lives out of state now but still visits at least once a year. So when he does, he head to San Francisco on a gastronomic pilgrimage.

Dim Sum consists of many small dishes of pork, vegetables, egg rolls, and my favorite, Pork Bows which is a soft bread stuffed with sweet and sour pork. Washing it all down is an unlimited amount of jasmine tea brewed with loose tealeaves. The place itself has a plain brick exterior, while the inside has a linoleum covered floor, plastic chairs, and Formica tables that look like they came out of the 1950’s. Considering when you walk in you are greeted by a glass case with an ancient newspaper article and folders about the 1959 Miss Chinatown contest and it’s almost eerie in its old fashioned atmosphere.

You almost expect these shadowy figures lurking in the back tables, casting wary eyes on potential murder suspects, smugglers, and other nefarious characters. Like the waiter who always had a pair of chopsticks in his shirt pocket with notches in them. Were they some type of secret code? Or were they reminders of his victims, those who dared to cross him, or worse, stiff him on his tip.

But none of this has any effect on the food, which is best described as delectable and delightful. There’s no pressure to eat fast, instead the atmosphere is designed for leisurely dining. A few years back my friend and I went afterwards to the Asian Art Museum. There was a display of porcelain Happy Buddha’s. We decided they had reached the rapturous state of enlightenment, inner peace, and complete happiness from having eaten at Hang Ah.

Hipocrisy

Time for a rant...

The best way to spot a hypocrite, one who should have a t-shirt emblazoned with the word and town criers leading the way when they go down the street calling, “Make way for the hypocrite,” is for that person to give themselves a label. Certain labels are ways that the weak minded make themselves feel important, since that’s the only way they can identify with anyone or anything else. A true rational person takes an idea, analyses it without prejudice or preconceived conclusions, and is prepared to alter his or her opinions based on facts, not hype.

Perhaps the most misused label is “environmentalist.” At one time it meant a true lover of nature who was interested in preservation not just for the sake of it, but also because of the ecological value of an area. This person realized clean water and air, safe disposal of toxic wastes, efficient use of energy, and reasonable recycling were not only good for ones health but also made economic sense. A healthy population is of course going to be more economically viable than an unhealthy one, and for businesses efficiency in manufacturing reduces costs and increases profits. Less land and resources are needed, which allows more preservation of open space, parks, and wilderness areas that are vital for healthy ecosystems. As for alternative energy sources, these create more business opportunities while reducing America’s dependency on foreign oil.

The true environmentalist will practice his or her beliefs by their lifestyle. This doesn’t mean living in caves, (or trees if in Berkeley), bathing only once a week if that, and subsisting on tree bark and dirt. This person will tell others about efficient recycling and energy use, healthy eating, and the need for ecological balance. But this is done without preaching or taking on a “holier than thou” attitude. Instead they teach by quiet example.

My high school biology teacher, Ken Teberg, was a perfect example. He taught his class how to incorporate sound environmental principles into their every day lives. We came to appreciate and understand nature, while at the same time not looking at life’s conveniences such as cars and electronics as evils. Balance was and is the key.

Unfortunately, environmentalist has more recently come to signify zealots who cannot be reasoned with. They are determined to undermine society and enforce their own radical agenda of no development, no growth, and forcing governments and businesses into unnecessary spending and regulations that result in little gain. And their reason? In part they are some of the most ignorant people I know. But for many, it is a shrewd way to stroke their egos and make money. They see the attention they get through fear mongering of an unsuspecting public. And while some piously claim to be following an ascetic lifestyle, many others rake in the money that duped individuals and groups who should know better, donate.

An acquaintance in my office loves trumpeting she’s an environmentalist. But here are some facts. She is into solar power. Ok, no problem with that though it’s still very expensive and impractical on a large scale. At the same time she goes ballistic at even the mention of an oil company and heaven forbid you even say the word nuclear in her presence. Yet that didn’t stop her from driving a gas guzzling SUV for many years. Fact two, she wants to conserve water. California is currently experiencing a significant water shortage, and granted rainfall has been below average the last couple of years. However, the same environmentalists such as this acquaintance were frothing at the mouth in anger at even the suggestion of the state building more reservoirs to hold sufficient water to compensate for these situations.

She also proudly claims she only showers once a week. The held noses of anyone around her are proof of that. But at the same time she has an uncovered swimming pool that annually loses thousands of gallons in evaporation.

Fact three, in winter she refuses to turn on the heat in her house, and instead uses an indoor fireplace when it gets cold. This is an old fashion brick fireplace that is not only extremely inefficient at heating, but is a major contributor to indoor and outdoor particulate matter pollution. This is a major health hazard. Anyone experiencing the ongoing effects of the fires raging throughout central and northern California knows what I mean. It’s the exact same effect.

But disagree with her and you are greeted with hateful looks and an attitude you are the devil incarnate. Needless to say I’ll be very happy to leave her behind, and then forget she ever existed, when I’m gone from California.

Wild Blue Yonder

I’ve long been fascinated with airplanes, going back to some of my earliest memories when I was four, and living in Albuquerque. In World War II, my dad had been in the Air Force, (or to be technical, the Army Air Force as it wasn’t a separate service back then), and there must have been times when he showed me photos of various aircraft, usually military, in books and told me their designations. That must have stuck, as I remember him taking me to an air show at the Kirtland air base in Abluquerque and me being able to identify several types on sight. My favorite was the B-36 bomber, one of the largest and most distinctive looking planes ever built. It was huge by any standards, and when you’re only four it’s even more impressive.

Other times we would go to the civilian airport, (which was adjacent to the air base), and sit on an adobe wall to watch the planes come and go. Those incidents sparked a life long interest in aviation and aviation history. Although my mom had her reservations the first time I actually flew.

Her father in Indiana was very ill, so mom flew back to be with him at the end. Since I had never met him, she took me along. I’m sure if they knew the circumstances, people in the airport would have thought that was a sweet gesture, taking a little boy to meet his grandfather for the first and sadly, last time.

Well, that was until we were getting ready to board. This was back in 1958, and the first jet airliners were coming into service. I spotted a gleaming Boeing 707 outside a terminal window, and asked mom if we could fly on it. She said no, and pointed to our plane, a propeller driven Lockheed Constellation. But I was persistent. So was mom. So I pitched a temper tantrum. Back then the pilots often greeted passengers as they were getting ready to board. Mom still reminds me of the glares she was getting from ours as I screamed, ‘I don’t want to fly on the old rattletrap, I want to fly on that new jet."

At this time I was a much more mature five year old, but still concepts like flight schedules, etc., didn’t come to mind. So mom reluctantly dragged me on board anyway. My mom doesn’t drink but she may have been sorely tempted that day.

Later in life I would take myself to air shows and was delighted that a job assignment to Washington, DC in 1990 meant easy access to the Air and Space Museum. But the ultimate aeronautic experiences were the pair of trips dad and I took to the Air Force Museum in Dayton, Ohio. If it had flown in the Air Force, it was represented, including the first B-36 I had seen since Albuquerque. And yes, it is still a very impressive plane.

But the highlight was a display of the B-29 bomber of the type dad flew in during the war. In addition to a complete famous one hanging from the ceiling, there was an open fuselage you could walk into. Dad became like a kid in a candy store. He dashed from station to station, pointing out what was what, and then sat in his radio operator’s seat. He got this far away look as though his old crewmembers had reappeared. He would mention them by name, “That would be Roy from New York in the navigator’s chair, and Tom from Ohio was our pilot.” Then his voice would tail off, and he added, “This sure brings back some memories.”

These were memories I could scarcely comprehend, never having even being in the military let alone combat. But the emotions in dad's face and eyes at those times were overwhelming, and you know they went to the depth of his soul.

An Appropriate Name

Do you ever wonder where old technology goes to die? You don’t? Well why not? “2001: A Space Odyssey,” proved machines have souls, or at the very least can sing off key. Although unlike HAL, most modern machines only sit silently when they malfunction instead of politely refusing a command with an, ‘I’m sorry, Dave, I can’t do that."

Considering the useful life of items like computer components and cell phones is about 15 minutes between their time of sale to when their replacements are on the shelves, there is a glut of technology that is still useful, but alas because of real or perceived obsolescence is unloved and unwanted. Fortunately there is a place in the Bay Area where they can go to live again. It’s an appropriately named store, well, more of a cluttered warehouse, called ‘Weirdstuff."

I discovered it by accident in the late 1980’s while actually trying to locate a Fry’s Electronics. The name drew me in, and it did not disappoint. I was delighted to find old game cartridges for my TI-99/4A, old pc software, (remember when Microsoft Works fit on a pair of floppy disks?), and a barrel of circuit boards labeled… “Barrel of Boards.” Who couldn’t love a store where most items were labeled with a garish orange sticker emblazoned with “Guaranteed Not To Work. If It Does, You May Exchange It For One That Doesn’t.”

There was much more than just computer components, the place was an electrical engineer’s heaven. You could get oscilloscopes for a few dollars, mounting racks for a mainframe computer, (all true Americans need a mainframe), testing meters of all types, enough cables to sew the San Andreas Fault closed, and at one time something my dad would have loved, a vacuum tube tester. Dad was an engineer, and felt in many ways a lot of technological progress was more hype than real advancement. He was ticked when the only store in town with a vacuum tube tester got rid of it as he would have gladly taken it off their hands. I wonder if the one in Weirdstuff was the same one.

Dad was always building things from scratch, more often than not just because he could. It’s a shame he left California for Indiana before Weirdstuff opened, or he would have pitched a tent in their parking lot to live in. And what he would have built would have been staggering. I imagine he would have started with a bunch of robots with the sole function of terrorizing mom’s dog. After that he would have added more robots to keep some neighbors and assorted relatives to keep honest.

And of course they’d use vacuum tubes.

Just Don't Tell Them Jerry Garcia Is Dead

While I didn't graduate from there, one of my fondest college memories was the year I spent at UC Berkeley. One of the finest academic institutions in the world, it is an amazing place. I still return several times in the Fall to attend football games, though until Saint Jeff of Tedford arrived six years ago to rescue the team from the demons of mediocrity, (and last year's second half of the season collapse was merely a test of faith, order will be restored this season... I hope!), the stadium was a wonderful place to get away from it all on Saturdays.

With Tedford came success, with success came large crowds at the games, and a realization that Cal, (the official name, UCLA is the barely tolerated younger brethren down south), had athletic facilities most junior high schools would sneer at. So a fund raiser was started to build a state of the art facility to safely house and train not only the football team but teams from many other sports, both men and women's. A site was chosen next to the stadium, and since much of the facility would be underground it would blend perfectly with the hillside the stadium is built into, making everyone happy.

Not so fast.

This is Berkeley, home of the Free Speech movement of the 60's and still populated by a large group who would protest against Santa Claus for being an oppressive white male paying substandard wages to overworked elves while engaging in animal abuse by forcing innocent reindeer to haul this heavy sleigh around the world. So almost as soon as the plans were revealed, the protests started.

First was a ragtag group who called themselves the Save The Oaks foundation. It would be necessary to remove about 40 oak trees to build the facility. Mind you, these oaks were planted at the same time the stadium was built in the early 1920's. Never mind that they are a very common species of oak and that as part of the construction plan the university would plant three to replace every one that would be cut down. Letting facts get in the way is not the modus operandi for extremists.

A group of cretins... errr... dedicated environmentally aware activists... nah, call it like it is, cretins, built platforms in the trees and lived in them to bring attention to the fact that they are a bunch of idiots. Their claims that the site was an ancient American Indian burial ground, (claims pushed by a phony with the fake name Running Wolf... evidence is mounting he is not an Indian at all and is an insult to them), that the oaks are part of an endangered wildlife preserve, etc. are of course completely false.

But it was entertaining for a while. Granted most of the "Tree Sitters" were only there to be fed by their equally brain dead supporters on the ground. Otherwise they'd be back on the streets of Berkeley panhandling and making a complete nuisance of themselves. But while in the trees one got to meet such scintillating characters like "Redwood Mary", "Millipede", and everyone's personal favorite, "Dumpster Muffin". Now dumping all of them in the nearest dumpster does sound like a great idea.

In the meantime several lawsuits were filed against Cal to stop construction, for no other reason than for the residents of the city to be their usual anti development, anti progress, anti everything out of general principle royal pains. The judge's recent decision was almost completely in the university's favor, so it can be expected that construction of the athletic facility can finally start before much longer.

I'll only be able to attend a few games this season before moving to Texas, (and if Comcast's sports package doesn't let me continue watching them on television blood will be spilled). I won't miss the Tree Sitters, though fans from visiting teams will miss out on a true Berkeley experience. I'll never forget overhearing a fan last season when Cal played Tennessee saying, "This is better than going to the zoo." Then there was the Cal fan calling out, "I'm buying drinks for any of you Tennessee fans who brought your hunting license and shooting iron."

Gas Pains

California loves to pride itself on being a leader, and in areas such as the entertainment industry and technology, that is true. The exception with technology is in customer support, but that will be the subject of another entry. Unfortunately, California has the honor of also being a leader in government idiocy, (Berkeley's City Council being the prime example), obscenely overpriced housing, (the recent drop in these prices not being nearly enough to make this state a desirable place to live), and now gas.

Despite claiming to be so into public transportation, California is as car crazy as any other place in the country. Now in Texas, a car is a necessity. This isn't just because no matter where you buy a house everyplace you need to get to conspires to be 500 miles away. Well, for the most part it is a pretty flat state so things tend to get spread out. But the other reason is take a glance at the weather report for any given part of the state in July and then decide if you really want to take that bicycle farther than the end of your driveway.

Gas is steep there, just like everywhere else, but in the Bay Area it is usually 30 cents a gallon higher than the national average. Considering the number of refineries in this area, that has never made any sense. The excuses for these prices seem lamer by the day, my theory is plain old price gauging because those in the industry and government, (yes that means YOU George Bush, Dick Cheney and the rest of you Haliburton weenies), can rake in more obscene profits.

Though speaking of which, if I had known six months ago this was going to happen, I would have bought a dozen or so Toyota Prius's then kept on jacking the price up as gas prices kept rising and SUV owners became more desperate. But not having a crystal ball means another brilliant business plan shot to heck.

But on a personal note, I'm still planning to drive to Texas when I make my big move in November. My vehicle of choice is "Phydeaux", my faithful 1993 Toyota Corolla. It may have picked up a few dings over the years, but it starts up every morning and more importantly still averages close to 34 miles per gallon. Though if gas goes up much more by then, like 50 cents a gallon while I'm still filling my tank, I'll ask if instead of the extra landscaping at my wife's and my new house in Texas if we can get oil drilling equipment.