Colorado River Aqueduct
Topic: Personal

Bruce and I went on an inspection tour of the Colorado River Aqueduct by the Metropolitan Water District of Southern California.

The area near where we were staying also supported a population of burros, descendants of those who were released into the desert after the construction completed in the 1940's.  A small herd came to the camp to investigate; they were tame enough for us to feed with apples but feral enough that they would not allow too much petting, not to mention riding (Bruce's weekend ambition was to catch a burro and ride it).

 

Turbine at intake station

Is Eating Out Cheaper than Cooking at Home? Shenanigans!
Topic: Opinion

If someone doesn't like cooking and prefers meals from a restaurant, then they should just own up and say so; there's nothing wrong with that. Why do people need to justify it? It's hardly a sin for which you need to plead indulgence. I don't like to bake and I would no sooner make my own pie crust as knit my own damn socks, but I won't tell you that it's because it costs less to buy a pie crust than baking it once you factor in my hourly rate!

For example, a complete dinner for four:

1.5 lb beefsteak $15.00 (gourmet organic grass-fed)
4 young potatoes $0.60 (from a bag @ $2.50)
1 box mushrooms $2.50
1 med onion $0.50 ($1.00 per lb)
1 head garlic $0.25 (from 4-head sack @ $1.00)
½ stick butter $0.50 (from 4-stick pack @ $4.00)
2 tablespoons flour $0.05 (from 1 lb bag for $2.00)
1 frozen pie crust $1.50 (from 2-pack @ $3.00) Of course I buy frozen. What do I look like, Laura Ingalls?
Pinches salt and pepper $0.02 (from 1 lb sea salt @ $5 and medium jar pepper @ $5)
1 loaf French bread at grocery store bakery $1.00
½ butter, softened, for bread $0.50
a little crushed rosemary to add to butter $0.02
½ gallon ice cream $2.50
1 box seasonal berries $2.00
Wine: $20 (restaurant markup'd make this $40 or more)
Gas for cooking meal $0.02

• gourmet beefsteak pie with mushroom and onions
• warm bread with rosemary butter on side
• a glass of wine to go with
• ice cream with berries for afters

Where in a restaurant anywhere can you get this deal?
This might take 20 minutes prep and 20 minutes bake, plus 20 minutes cleanup = 1 hour that I wasn't going to be paid anyway.

Not expecting company?

½ lb large shrimp $5.00
sprig of dill-weed $0.05
sprig of basil $0.05
pinch salt and pepper $0.02
1 cup cream $0.50
1 cup stock $0.50
2 tablespoon olive oil $0.10
1 tablespoon vinegar $0.10
1 box pasta $0.50
1 bag store salad $1.50

Feeds 2 @ less than $5 per person, sautéed shrimp with herb and cream sauce served over pasta, plus salad with oil and vinegar dressing.  Cheaper than any restaurant anywhere.

Banjo Patterson, cowboy poet Down Under.
Topic: Fun

Clancy of the Overflow

I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
    Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,
He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,
   Just on spec, addressed as follows, “Clancy, of The Overflow”.

And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,
    (And I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar)
’Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:
    “Clancy’s gone to Queensland droving, and we don’t know where he are.”

In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy
    Gone a-droving “down the Cooper” where the Western drovers go;
As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,
    For the drover’s life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.

And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him
    In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,
And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,
    And at night the wond’rous glory of the everlasting stars.

I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy
    Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,
And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city
    Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all.

And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle
    Of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street,
And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,
    Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.

And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me
    As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,
With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,
    For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.

And I somehow rather fancy that I’d like to change with Clancy,
    Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,
While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal—
    But I doubt he’d suit the office, Clancy, of The Overflow.

---

Waltzing Matilda

Oh there once was a swagman camped in the Billabong,
    Under the shade of a Coolabah tree;
And he sang as he looked at his old billy boiling,
    “Who’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.”

Who’ll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling,
     Who’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?
Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag—
     Who’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?

Down came a jumbuck to drink at the water-hole,
    Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him in glee;
And he sang as he put him away in his tucker-bag,
    “You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me!”

Down came the Squatter a-riding his thorough-bred;
    Down came Policemen—one, two, and three.
“Whose is the jumbuck you’ve got in the tucker-bag?
    You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.”

But the swagman, he up and he jumped in the water-hole,
    Drowning himself by the Coolabah tree;
And his ghost may be heard as it sings in the Billabong,
    “Who’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?”

---

The Man From Snowy River

There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
    That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses — he was worth a thousand pound,
    So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
    Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
    And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight.

There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
    The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up—
    He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
    No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths would stand,
    He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.

And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,
    He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony—three parts thoroughbred at least—
    And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry—just the sort that won’t say die—
    There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
    And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
    And the old man said, “That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop—lad, you’d better stop away,
    Those hills are far too rough for such as you.”
So he waited sad and wistful—only Clancy stood his friend —
    “I think we ought to let him come,” he said;
“I warrant he’ll be with us when he’s wanted at the end,
    For both his horse and he are mountain bred.

“He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko’s side,
  Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse’s hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
    The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
    Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
    But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.”

So he went — they found the horses by the big mimosa clump —
    They raced away towards the mountain’s brow,
And the old man gave his orders, ‘Boys, go at them from the jump,
    No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
    Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
    If once they gain the shelter of those hills.’

So Clancy rode to wheel them—he was racing on the wing
    Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made the ranges ring
    With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
    But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
    And off into the mountain scrub they flew.

Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
    Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
    From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
    Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely, “We may bid the mob good day,
    No man can hold them down the other side.”

When they reached the mountain’s summit, even Clancy took a pull,
    It well might make the boldest hold their breath,
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
    Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
    And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
    While the others stood and watched in very fear.

He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
    He cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat—
    It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
    Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
    At the bottom of that terrible descent.

He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill,
    And the watchers on the mountain standing mute,
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still,
    As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met
    In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
    With the man from Snowy River at their heels.

And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.
    He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,
    And alone and unassisted brought them back.
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
    He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
    For never yet was mountain horse a cur.

And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
    Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
    At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around the Overflow the reedbeds sweep and sway
    To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The man from Snowy River is a household word to-day,
    And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.

---

Brief biography of Andrew Barton ‘Banjo’ Paterson, 1864-1941

 

 

Kentucky Countryside
Topic: Personal

http://chaischoll.org/mckenney50/id2.html

 

Topic: Personal

Bruce and I took Austin to the San Diego Zoo on Saturday. I took some videos of the animals being active (the polar bears one is the best IMO) on the visit and posted them to YouTube.

Polar Bear https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cRnoETK9sxU

Hippopotamus https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PDpRaUfGJDw

Panda https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SwoPbjLhj4k

Peacock https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OI5wDQqlphw

Footbinding in China
Topic: Opinion

This, and other body-modification schemes humanity has heaped upon our women over the centuries and across the continents, were never about 'beauty'. They were always about control. 

In spirit, foot-binding is no different from the European corsets that broke the ribs, crushed the organs, and stunted the growth of women for hundreds of years; no different than the burkhas hard-line modern Islamists use to cover and anonymitize their women; a woman with a bound foot cannot walk far out of the family home, and a woman in a burkha can hardly go anywhere at all. These were measures put in to control women's movements and consequently subjugate their lives.  Sure, you read literature about how 'golden lillies' were considered beautiful in old-time China, but such literature were always written by men, who determined a woman's worth through a standard that can only be achieved through artifice. Pallid, weakened women with artificial (not to say dangerous) 18" waists were also considered beautiful in old-time Western societies, but who determines these standards of beauty anyways, and why do we women perpetually fall for it?  Why do I wear spiky high heels and think I look fantastic when barely able to hobble perilously from the curb to a restaurant door?

Speaking as a Chinese-American woman, I can tell you that foot-binding is no longer done (note the extreme age of the woman in the pictures) in China.  My grandmother had feet that were bound by her mother, but she came of age shortly after the revolution in 1911 and her feet were 'liberated' and allowed to return to a more natural form.  They did straighten back out, but never grew to normal adult size, instead remained small enough to wear child-size shoes all her life.  Feet on Chinese girls were bound starting at about age 6-7, and were ostensibly a sign of affluence (the whole reason of 'control' notwithsanding and certainly unspoken) - a girl with bound feet will do no hard work, and certainly no peasant work like farming.  In this, food-binding shares another commonality with European corsets - a corseted woman can't bend at the waist, run fast, or even turn around quickly; thus only ladies wore corsets, starting with 'training corsets' when pre-adolescents, and their servants did not. In modern ages, our equivalent might be tanning, or eating disorders; they are beauty-regimens of the affluent, and just as the olden days, such beauty can kill us so easily, much more galling because we do it to ourselves.

NPR Story on footbinding in China: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=8966942&sc=emaf

 

Topic: Personal
Bruce took me to the LA Times Festival of Books this weekend, and we had a blast.  I've never been to a book festival before, and this was a great experience.  It was held on the campus of UCLA, and was free to all public, except if you wanted to attend a panel discussion or an interview you have to get tickets (for crowd control purposes), which can be had on-line for a pittance of $0.75; the upshot is that within a day of the tickets becoming available they were almost all gone for all the really interesting panels, so we had to make some strategery decisions on planning our festival experience.

We met Michael Pollan and had him sign Bruce's copy of The Omnivore's Dilemma (my copy is in storage somewhere buried in a density of boxes, along with my copy of his other book, The Botany of Desire).  We couldn't get tickets to his discussion panel called "Food Fight: When did eating become controversial?", so we had to go into the Standby line before the panel started; while we were in line, a woman behind us asked us to hold her place while she checked in with her party at the on-site ticket line.  We held her space, shuffled around restively in the rapidly warming morning, and when she came back right before the panel started, lo and behold she had 4 tickets in hand - 2 of them for us! It made our day!

We paid that favor forward later in the day by handing a pair of Ray Bradbury tickets to some people waiting in the Standby line for that event, and they told us it made their day.

Tangent: We didn't go to the Bradbury event because Bruce was taking me and the kids to a LA Galaxy vs Chivas USA soccer game.  That was a little awkward in the beginning as Yohlee was at the same game with her boyfriend Dirk, and it was the first time the two women had seen each other.  We did not meet, however. Bruce knows I cannot abide public scenes, and he was concerned that one might ensue; I however circumvented any such eventuality by suddenly finding interesting posters on the stadium walls to read rather than crossing paths with her in the ticket line.  Fortunately, our seats - with the kids - were very, very far away from her and Dirk, and the rest of the evening passed in peace and I really enjoyed the game, even capturing a goal on my digital camera video. We went out to supper afterwards and embarrassed the kids with groaner puns - to wit: Samantha says she had a glass of milk the previous night and she woke up all congested. Her father responds with "I bet you thought that milk was a good idea, but it's snot". 

It's a bit of a shame that Yohlee can't cooperate with Bruce more, as my ex and I are in full cooperative mode and we are on quite good terms, even professionally - Robert is a municipal water engineer and our work sometimes intersect, so it makes sense for us to stay friendly.  And I assure you that I hope to eventually have at least have a polite relationship with Yohlee, because it would cause Bruce less stress, and I will do what I can.

Now, returning to your regular email programming.

Have you heard of the books " Guns, Germs and Steel" (now a PBS program) and "Collapse" by Jared Diamond? Bruce loaned me his copies of both books into which I've made, sadly, not very much inroad but have enjoyed so far.  His sister, journalist Susan Diamond, also has a mystery novel out " What Comes Around", and they did a panel together talking about their upbringing and how they came to write what they write.   We went to the panel and had them sign their books too.  I asked her to dedicate her book to "Bruce and Bunny", and took pains to point out, amusingly, that I am the Bunny half of that duo, should there be any confusion*. Susan Diamond told a funny tale of watching Jared Diamond, in high school on the debate team, delivering a rebuttal during a public debate, and "...suddenly, without warming, Jared split an infinitive!" It goes to show the literary nerd quotient of the audience when everyone in the room not only got the joke but gasped obligingly and laughed out loud; or as we say in Internet parlance, LOL'd.

*I was born in 1975, the year of the Rabbit by the Chinese reckoning. When I was growing up my family called me Bunny, and even now my mother and my relatives call me that.  I told Bruce this and he has since been taken to using that moniker with me too.

We also met Walter Mosley, whose books Bruce have enjoyed. We brought several books to the signing after his very impassioned, very funny interview. Ostensibly it was about his new book "This Year You Write Your Novel", a lot of which was apparently about the commitment to write; he also treated us to his political views, an off-color joke, and the sight of a ginormous gold ring the size of a small chicken.  He told Bruce the ring was an original Ghanaian artifact, and since it was too tacky to have been made-up, I suppose it must be authentic.

Our last program of the festival that we had tickets for was a panel of history writers, notably military history writers; we had not known any of the authors but the panel topic was interesting enough that I got tickets, knowing that Bruce is interested in military history; on the same day, he went and got tickets to a science writer's panel knowing that I like science writing. Unfortunately for us, both panels were Sunday at 1:30, and we ended up making somebody else's day by giving away the science panel tickets to people in the stand-by line.  The historian David Wallechinsky has a book called The World's 20 Worst Dictators; I bought a copy for him to sign and now I can't wait to read what he says about the premier of China, Hu Jing Tao - oppressive Communist bastard that he is. By that I mean, Hu, not Wallechinsky.

One of the writers on the History panel has a book out on pirates, and I told Bruce that I want to go to the mic during Q&A and ask him if he's planning a book on ninjas (click on link for pirates vs ninjas Internet meme).  Bruce suggested I ask him if pirates were really motivated by money, or some other forms of...[wait for it]... booty.  Luckily for everyone, time ran out before I could make my way up there.

There were a lot of authors there, including cartoonists; Bruce got Sam a Rubes calendar, and Austin a signed Foxtrot volume.  The artist of Foxtrot actually drew a little cartoon of one of his characters saying "Hi Austin!" on the flyleaf, it was certainly different and fun.  I wanted a copy for myself but they had run out and we snagged the last copy of the book for Austin. Score!

We had great fun, although admittedly a bit - okay, a lot - nerdy.  The funniest moment during the two days, though, was driving up to LA and passing a car with the license plate that said " HALDOL", surrounded by a license plate frame that says "It's working!". I LOL'd. Bruce suggested we drive up against this guy's rear bumper so I can get a photo to send out, but we agreed, prudently, that it would be inadvisable to tailgate someone who's on an anti-psychotic drug in order to point a camera at them while we're all going 80 mph.

Better than a grilled cheese sandwich
Topic: Fun

 Spotted on the west side of Azusa Blvd, in West Covina, between Vine and Merced streets.

Bureaucrats don't have balls? These do!
Topic: Personal

Bruce took me to the South Orange County Chambers of Commerce Ball last night and we had a really good time.  Bruce knows absolutely everyone, of course, and I met some of his friends and colleagues and heard some very nice things about him.  People really think very highly of him and his work, and did not hesitate to tell me how wonderful it was for the region to have him and what a great job he's doing.  It was very heartening.

Although I myself had made a little splash...Someone mistook me as the newly elected First District county supervisor (another Asian woman about my age) and was about to congratulate me on my recent election victory before he stopped himself short to confirm my identity.  I joked with Bruce that come Monday there'll be rumors in the county that he was canoodling with the newly elected supervisor all night and was seen leaving the party with her, even.  Qu'elle scandale!

 

Washington DC
Topic: Personal

We saw a seafood restaurant called "Legal Sea Foods", and being us - lots of fish puns ensued. He was quite finny. We debated whether they served poached fish (ah ha ha, poached). It was off the scale, but you know we just did it for the halibut and not on porpoise.