Category: pondering

And Then The World Fell Off Its Axis

Woke up early this morning after a terrible night’s sleep, or rather, lack of sleep. Rising out of the bed, I was keenly aware of a feeling of anxiousness deep in my stomach.

I had an 8:00 video conference with London, and I worried about being able to make the equipment work for this very important meeting.

I got to work early, and as I walked around the nearby lagoon to get to the videoconference building, I saw a single Coot paddling along the smooth as glass surface.

Feeling anything but optimistic and keen to cheer myself up, I started singing “Good Morning, good moooorning, to you!” (a la “Singing in the Rain”) to the confused Coot.

I laughed at myself, and laughing felt good.

Turns out I had nothing to worry about the videoconference. It went off without a hitch and when it was over, my mood had improved greatly.

To add to the day’s improvements, two meetings directly following the videoconference were cancelled. I was given a gift of my morning, and that’s valuable.

Back at my desk, I fired up the streaming radio and dug into work.

Tip tapping away at the keys, I heard my iPhone buzz.

A text message from The Good Man. “Did you see today’s SF Gate?” he asked. The SFGate is the local newspaper for San Francisco.

“Not yet, let me look,” I replied, figuring there was something interesting there to see.

The page opened and I scanned the headlines, but didn’t latch on to what The Good Man wanted me to see.

Then I gasped.

I saw the photo first. Then the headline. My friend and consummate Blues Man Johnny Nitro has died.

Over quite a few years of hard living he’d had a little trouble with his ticker. His heart as big as the world had a mechanical flaw.

I’d last seen Nitro in August at the book signing for Saloonatics, an amazing book of photos by my buddy Scott Palmer that honestly captures the thriving blues scene at The Saloon in San Francisco’s North Beach.

Even though I hadn’t seen Nitro for many years, he still wrapped me in a tight hug that lasted a long time. He was genuinely happy to see me, and I almost cried for joy at seeing him again. I introduced Nitro to The Good Man and as they shook hands, I felt at home.

Back in 1997 when I moved to the Bay Area, I knew how to get to exactly one place in San Francisco: North Beach. With trembling knees and shaking hands I’d force myself to drive to North Beach on the weekends. I’d have dinner and a couple fortifying drinks at Sodini’s, then I’d go to one or both of the blues clubs located on Grant Street.

It didn’t take long before I was considered a North Beach regular. I got to be friends with the people who worked in the restaurants and bars, the musicians, and other regulars.

The people of North Beach look out for each other. We take up for our own. I was welcomed into the family by a group of good, hardworking people.

Nitro was one of those people back in the early days who closed ranks around a little hayseed from New Mexico and let her know she was going to be all right.

And I was. With these seasoned city folks to help me learn, I turned out all right.

Nitro had a deep catalog of blues tunes ingrained in his DNA. Name a song, he could play it. He’d fire up that blue and white Strat and make it sing.

Nitro made me laugh and he made me cry. He played music that spoke to my soul. I owe Nitro a debt of gratitude that now I’m afraid I’ll never be able to repay.

Nitro’s best known quote is, “Keep drinking triples ’til you’re seeing double, feeling single and getting in trouble.”

But he had another quote that seems more fitting.

In the middle of a soaring blues riff that filled The Saloon with sound, Nitro would step up to the mike and holler “Riiiide!”

And for you, my friend, wherever you are: Riiiide!





Photo by Scott Palmer, taken at the 2000 Rumsey Blues festival. Yes, I was there…..


From Nature Made to Man Made

Going to jump tracks a bit from yesterday’s purple mountains majesty to marvels of human engineering.

A couple days after my return from New Mexico, I had to drive up to Sacramento for work stuff.

On the journey over highway 80, there are two major bridges to cross, the Bay Bridge, and the Carquinez Bridge.

Both are, in my mind, very Jekyll and Hyde. Both beautiful and ugly at the same time.

When riding over these bridges, I always have to wonder what the bridge builders around here have got against the east side of a perfectly nice bridge?

Here, let me show you.

This is the eastbound section of the Carquinez, headed toward Sacramento:



It’s got sort of an Erector Set toy feel about it, no? (assuming you are old enough to remember Erector Sets)

It’s very utilitarian and functional and not very aesthetically pleasing.

And then, for comparison, here’s the westbound section of the same bridge (headed toward San Francisco).



Lovely! Clean lines and very modern and stylish.

You can even see the less attractive side of the bridge off to the left.

I’d like to think that this two opposite halves approach is an anomaly to only the Carquinez, but no.

Let’s talk the Bay Bridge. It’s split into two sections, the eastern span (east of Treasure Island) and the Western Span (west of Treasure Island).

These photos are from the top deck, headed west, but look at the vast difference in the two halves of the bridge.

Eastern span:



Again with the construction by Erector Set! So not pretty. Utilitarian.

And then the elegant, iconic western span:



Rumor has it that they are doing new construction on the eastern span and when complete, it will be a much more attractive suspension bridge like the western span.

But given the pace of the Department of Transportation and CalTrans, I wonder if I’ll see it in my lifetime.



All photographs taken with an iPhone4 by Karen Fayeth and subject to the creative commons license as seen in the far right column of this page.


Walking On The Moon

Last weekend, toward the end of my visit to New Mexico, my best friend and I decided we needed to go somewhere without much in the way of civilization.

A break from the every day is good for the soul.

This year my friend had drawn out a tag to hunt Oryx, and about a month ago, she and her husband went out to the empty land around Upham, New Mexico as Oryx are plentiful there.

While she didn’t manage to get an Oryx this year, while hiking around, she witnessed a vista so amazing that she wanted to share it with me.

So we loaded up and went bouncing down dirt roads, me riding in the passenger seat. My job was to open and close gates so that we could make our way past ranches without much in the way of fences to contain their hungry cattle.

Since the truck we rode in sounds a lot like a feed truck, they’d come a galloping along to greet us. It was kind of hard to let down all of our bovine friends as we only had a fried chicken picnic to eat, and that’s not really cow food.

The land we saw as we bumped along was empty, otherworldly and beautiful.

My New Mexico readers will also know a bit about Upham as that is where the New Mexico Spaceport is being built with taxpayers money.

By taking publicly accessible roads, we were able to get pretty gosh darn close to the construction site.

Here’s what it looks like (click photo for larger size):



The Spaceport website has quite a few construction photos as well. I was struck by the fantastically long tarmac, pure concrete rumored to be almost two miles long and three feet deep. How the heck they got that much water out there to create that much cement is absolutely beyond me.

The actual location of the Spaceport is quite a ways off the highway, almost an hour in the truck, and it’s a good thing my friend was familiar with the area. I would have been quite lost.

After ooh’ing and aah’ing along with cussing and discussing the merits (or lack of) of the spaceport, we headed up a long and somewhat winding trail to get to a certain spot my friend had in mind.

That’s when the ooh’ing and aah’ing really began.

This photo does no justice to the almost 180 degree sweeping view from Anthony to Truth or Consequences. It was absolutely breathtaking.

Other than the guy who lives in the small ranch at the top of the rise, and some Oryx hunters, I don’t imagine a lot of people have gotten the chance to see this amazing view.

It made me proud to be a New Mexican. This is who I am. This is where I come from.



(click for larger size)




All photographs by Karen Fayeth and subject to the creative commons license as seen in the far right column of this page.


An Unheralded Medium for Communication

During my recent visit to New Mexico, I got the chance to appreciate a good ol’ fashioned medium for blasting one’s special kind of crazy out to the world.

Look, I’m not talking about no Twitter, no kind of Facebook, no blog telling the world how I think about things. No!

I’m talking about full on signs attached to one’s vehicular mode of transportation.

Not bumper stickers. Signs.

Who knew?

My trip began with a journey from the airport on I-10 headed for Las Cruces. For a large part of the journey, I followed an eighteen wheeler with a rather large sign attached to the back.

As a matter of fact, this sign:



Photo source


I mean, I don’t know for sure, but I always thought The Big Guy had a better sense of humor than that. I’d like to think if he had a problem with my little nickname, well, he’d just tell me. Why’d I have to learn about this from the back of a semi?

Should I call the number on the sign and ask?

Later that same day, I stopped off for lunch. I had a quick bite at a place over by the mall in Las Cruces and when I came out to my rental car, I noted that the car parked next to me was covered with stickers, signs and slogans.

The one that caught my eye was a bright yellow number that said:

“What if Glenn Beck is Right?”

After I finished hurting my head pondering what that meant, I was reminded of the South Park episode where Cartman riffs on Glenn Beck.

Which makes me wonder if maybe the real question is…what if Cartman is right?

Huh? Huh?

“I’m just asking questions!”

So seeing those two signs got me thinking about Southern New Mexico. It seems things have taken a lean to the right since I lived there last.

But just like the old saying about my home state, “If you don’t like the weather, wait ten minutes” turns out it took only a couple days to bring things back into perspective.

As I drove back to the airport on Sunday, again on I-10, I followed a beat up old Subaru with a hand-lettered sign on the back.

This bit of typesetting said, and I quote: “If you are going to ride my ass, the least you can do is pull my hair.”

In big letters. Covering the entire rear window.

Which just made my eyes ping-zing around in my brain while the word “Tilt” flashed over my head….

Cruces is getting to be an odd place.




Who Needs a Brush? Not Me!

Back in the kindergarten days I always thought the best activities involved using my hands. Sitting and listening to a book being read was ok, but could get boring (reading it myself was far better). Working on worksheets? Bleaack. But clay, markers, crayons. Now we’re talking!

My absolute favorite activity happened when the gelatinous finger paints came out of the supply closet and we all strapped on smocks and got down to business.

I have learned over the course of my life that I have two of my five senses that are especially heightened. First is my sense of touch. I like to touch stuff. I like to feel surfaces. It’s all endlessly fascinating to me. So that luxurious gooey paint was just the ticket!

And the other sense is sight. Now, I don’t mean vision, my eyesight is terrible. I mean the way I respond to visual cues. I learn better visually. And colors! Oh how I love to see a raucous display of color.

So those pots of paint held endless fun for me. I’d dig a finger in there for a blob of red, then a finger full of blue and….holy crap! Purple!

I think all of this is why later on in life I took up crafting. I’m a total sucker for the water based acrylic paints that I use to make my stuff. I wonder sometimes if I’m a complete weirdo, because one of my absolute favorite parts of any project is the early prep work.

I *love* laying down that first layer of white base paint. I LOVE when I can just slap it on there and mush it into the corners and get paint up and down my arms and YES!

And when there is a sale on my brand of paint at the craft store? Step back people, I’m gonna drop some cash.

When I’m working on a craft project, I find I’ll fall in love with a certain color. I’ve had torrid affairs with Tomte Red, Pumpkin Orange, and Bright Blue. And then there’s Evergreen. This is but a few of my flings, I could go on at length.

I even love the blackest black paint and lament that I can’t get it to be darker. It’s all beautiful to me!

I’ve always admired Van Gogh paintings for the fact the man used a LOT of paint on the canvas. He’d mash it and squish it and make magic. I’m no Van Gogh, but I too love to use a lot of paint. I squeeze it on there with reckless abandon and find a place to use it all.

And then when I’m done, I take bristle brushes, sponge brushes, paint palettes, and fingers to the sink and scrub, scrub, scrub. I’m always a bit sad to see the last of the pigment wash away down the drain.

But when I set all the gear to dry, I smile to myself. All those clean brushes are there waiting for me, singing out, “c’mooon, let’s paint!”





This week’s Theme Thursday is paint.

Photo by Flavio Takemoto and used royalty free from stock.xchng.