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| Perfectly encapsulated! |
My little animation celebrating a family members birthday! Here's to you, Lee!
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| Lee Paige in blue! |
;-)
Today in short hours following the graphic murder of a truly contemptible human being, whose person I would usually prefer not to allot the slightest bit of copy space, I learned a depressing piece of information.
Omigod! This hate-mongering Christian Nationalist considered himself a member of the Calvary Chapel Association! A fact I stumbled across skimming over his bio.
CCA was the direct outgrowth of Pastor Chuck Smith's Calvary Chapel of Costa Mesa, the one and only teen church of early seventies fame so prominent and influential in evangelical Christian culture and music! I
Calvary Chapel, with its message of loving acceptance, almost single-handedly begat the Jesus Movement or hippie Jesus Freaks. Even Time Magazine did a cover feature on the social phenomenal.
The church also pioneered the nascent genre of Contemporary Christian Music, giving us Love Song and Maranatha Music. In 1971, these were like the melophonic and spiritual pinnacles of my young born-again days. Indeed, for the truly saved, they were part and parcel of the Jesus experience, love being the defining factor.
It was deciding factor, three years prior to the movement's peak popularity, that made me come to Christianity of my own accord. I did so precisely because the love, life and person of JC for me, epitomized so much of the anti-establishment, give-peace-a-chance, love-is-all-you-need, pacifistic, caring, world point-of-view I strove to emulate.
He was the quintessential hippie I dug back then.
Whatever happened to the central premise that was Calvary Chapel's original emphasis, and Maranatha Music's literal theme if you like?! So I assumed. What became of their core notion; their working "tenet"? Somewhere along the way, the ministry lost its heart.
That I was dismayed by the tidbit I accidentally learned, was understandable to say the least, but that I was altogether surprised - the truth be told, I wasn't.
More likely than not, I am a victim of my own projections, my desire to want to believe the best of people, beliefs, motives, and institutions. All too soon forgetting they, just like myself, are all too human.
What occurred? The 80's I believe. As evangelical Christianity grew with the influx of the young, it began feeling its political oats, especially that mainline, conservative part of the church that wasn't of the incoming youth set. We Jesus People were just the frivolous trimmings, the side show they tolerated, all the while envying our numbers. Pliable minds and fertile ground were we to inculcate and till - their way.
Many of us, like myself, disenchanted with the conservative direction of the church, dropped out. I fell away, because at heart, I also believed in pursuing hard after truth. Truth with a small "t". Even as a born-again, I valued the right; the need to question - everything, including The Truth. Too much of far left progressive and pacifist was I, smack dab in a den of right-wingers and Republicans, to ever capitulate! So their political ideology was never going to sway me, and those like me, to their ulterior, uncompassionate, world view.
Love drew me to the church, lack of it led me to leave. I wish my skepticism had played a role in my departure, but that 'muscle' was only just beginning to develop in me at the end of my tenure as a Christian.
Eventually, I became an atheist, a "eupraxsophist" to be specific, with the philosophy of "practicing good" towards others as well as towards myself. Love and pacifism still motivate me. Art, fer sure, as well. Science too.
What has all this digression to do with my topic? Well, despite the cynic in me, the years of watching the depths of inhumanity we humans can reach, I still want to believe the better of things. Perhaps, to the point of coloring over the past. I want to believe we were capable of innocence and can still achieve it, if only briefly.
I know better.
That the church I once admired from afar, that touched my youthhood can produce or allow such a vicious, vile, vehemently spiteful, callous and cruel hatemonger - antithetical to all its earlier professed values - to associate themselves with it. Well, my innocence still has the capacity to be stunned and shattered..
Nothing is sacred.
T
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| Time Magazine June 21, 1971. Cover art by Stanislaw Zagorski |
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| From Time Magazine's feature story. Pastor Chuck Smith carries a young paralytic to a mass baptism in the Pacific at Corona del Mar, California. Photo by Julian Wasser. |
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| An early poster from the Jesus Movement, whose text Time Magazine quotes at the start of their exposé. |
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| 'The Christ' (1962) The Richard Hook painting popularized by the Jesus Movement. |
T
T
But I am not surprised.
All sound and fury, signifying nothing.
Helpless rag doll.
Cut down
By their fruits
Live by the sword Die by the sword
Reap what they sow
"Hoist with his own petard" William Shakespeare's 'Hamlet' Act 3, Scene 4 (The speech, to which the relevant phrase was a part, was deleted in a number of Shakespeare's early and later manuscripts, leading some authorities to believe this was an actual cut intended by the Bard. Other experts disagree.)
Despised empathy
Collateral damage
Betty Bowers remark
Unfriended a "family" member who said they were going to 'unfriend" anyone expressing little pity My parting comment "Empathy for a man who despised it? I'll save you the trouble and goodbye."
T
Not to be flippant or facetious, but I am reminded of an old Gahan Wilson cartoon from Playboy.
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Nope. Not even my supposed innocency.
T
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| Low resolution copy of one of my favorite, Peter Van Kleef images. Photo credit pending. |
Today marks the ten year anniversary of Peter Van Kleef's passing. He was an extraordinary man, whom I almost did not meet. Were it not for the concerted efforts of another good friend of mine Di Anne Love, Peter and I would likely have slipped past each other in life."There's this person you just gotta meet, whose place you're just gonna love!"
She was right.
Needless to say, I am ever grateful to her for having coaxed me to step out of my shyness and into the enchantment that was Peter and Cafe Van Kleef.*
I remember the particulars well..
For months Di Anne Love, my employer at The City of Oakland Crafts and Cultural Arts Gallery, was doing all she could to introduce me to this amazing guy who she told me had some kind of fascinating art space., she was certain I would really love. Albeit, reticent as I was to meet people unknown to me or to enter unfamiliar territory, I simply hemmed and hawed, putting it off.
Luckily Di Anne never gave up trying. She merely had to wait for the opportune moment and propitious of circumstances. In reality however, she didn't have that many chances available to her. This was because Peter's accessibility at the time. His schedule didn't exactly make it easy.
For in 2001, Cafe Van Kleef, was still largely an on again - off again affair, its doors were literally sometimes open for business and not as the budding business underwent a couple of trial incarnations from bistro to bar. In the meantime, Di Anne would simply have to bide her time.
That opportunity finally presented itself one afternoon, when on the occasion of returning to the art gallery from lunch, we chance to drive pass CVK** with its front gate momentarily up, although the nascent was currently in its "closed" phase.
Catching sight of the open gate and acting fast, Di Anne immediately parked the car, and asked me to follow her inside,the establishment on the sudden pretext that she had something to hand its proprietor. This, she later confessed, was merely a ruse to get a diffident me "in the door". Suspecting nothing, I obliged her, completely unaware this, in fact, was that very place and person to which she had been trying, and almost in vain, to introduce to me!
Once she succeeded however, I was simply agog at the artistry confronting us. The sheer eclecticism, wall to wall; floor to ceiling; front to back as far as the eye could see was astounding!
Seconds later, Peter stepped under the gate behind us with some items retrieved from the basement. When he saw me my awe and staring moments later at the "flying aquarium" mounted high in the wall overhead, he mused "I bet you're wonderin' how I feed them?!" (Indeed, there were live fish in the tank!) "I do it with this!"
Standing beneath a huge, parabolic mirror, mounted on a tripod he himself had cobbled, Peter winked. Then coming around to the back side of the bar, he extended his hand. After that, a drink followed.
When Cafe Van Kleef permanently opened to the public, I was there at his side as his employee on that first business day. Peter, myself, and his nephew, Lance Cardenas. We three. Peter had won me over, although Di Anne was probably not expecting the degree to which he did. To her credit, she graciously let me go, as the position Peter extended to me was full time. My work for the Crafts and Cultural Arts Gallery was only for two weeks every other month.
The photo in the middle is me literally "between songs" so to speak. I'm only six and a half years old in the image, and Sunday dressed for a very special occasion (which has no direct bearing on this post).* Nevertheless, by the time I was nine in 1963, two pop songs were considered my "bestest"!
And here they are, sandwiching my dapper self!
The first is from 1960, The Everly Brothers' number one, smash hit: 'Cathy's Clown'.
'Cathy's Clown' The Everly Brothers (1960)
Me, all decked out in my duds. What a dandy, dashing, debonair dude!
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| Sunday, January 21, 1962 Photo by Manuel Rubio Sanchez |
The second number, from 1963, is Ruby and the Romantics' only chart topper: 'Our Day Will Come'.
'Our Day Will Come' Ruby and the Romantics (1963)
Why I was especially fond of these two numbers, I no longer know. In fact, when I look at my portraiture, aware that the date is January 21, 1961 (the Sunday it incidentally snowed in San Francisco), reminds me that Jorgen Ingmann's cover of The Shadows UK hit 'Apache' was currently climbing to the top of the American charts. 'Apache' was a tune of which I was wild as well. (Presumably, as it featured no lyrics that I could sing with which to help identify the song to someone possibly unfamiliar with its tune or title - I could barely carry a note - is perhaps one plausible reason why it was kept out of the running for consideration as a contender for inclusion into my "bestest" category. I can only suppose.)
*[SEE:"Frost!!" (Take One: The Fiftieth Anniversary - Pathé Newsreel Edition) Posted: January 12, 2012 and "Frost!!" (Take Two: The Fuller Account - Family Photographs Edition) Posted: October 5, 2024]
So the ad campaign went.
In the summer of 1962, my dad took my sisters and to see ‘Hatari!”. I can’t say if he did so, because he was aware of the San Francisco world premiere that had just occurred, with the main stars of the film in attendance, and all the hoopla, or if it was because of the striking advert in the movie section of the San Chronicle that surely must have caught my eight year old, wide-eyed attention. A charging rhino has gotta rank up there with dinosaurs went you ain’t got any living dinosaurs around anymore! It’s like the next best thing! If it was the second scenario, I can well imagine my having pleaded with my dad to see the film.
On a side note: I can even recall sitting before the tele watching a certain Three Stooges short the moment my father came into the room and told us to get our things as we were about to set out to the movies. If I ever stumble on that Three Stooges episode, I’ll be sure to list it here.
Once at the Paramount, as the curtains opened, and the first four notes of Henry Mancini’s horn section sounded, I was hooked! For me, the nearly three hour long feature was a visual and auditory feast. I couldn’t get enough! I came home humming the ‘Theme to Hatari’ over and over and, within days, I manage to find a wooden pole, and with my dad’s hemp rope, tried as best I could to fashion the boom used by John Wayne’s chapter Sean Mercer.
And the drawings, I never stopped! Pages and pages of paper were spent, happily recreating the standout scenes so indelibly etched into my boyhood brain. In fact, up until four years ago, I still had many of those illustrations. Sadly, they were an accidental casualty of a move.
‘Hatari!’ was instantly, my all time favorite movie to see at the theater. (‘The Day the Earth Stood Still’ which I also on television that same year - it had its national network television premiere on NBC’s Saturday Night at the Movies - is my favorite movie). Anyway, I got taken to see ‘Hatari!’ again. And as grew older, every chance I got to catch the film playing at some neighborhood movie house, I would go.
All in all, I believe I saw the picture at the local show, fourteen or more times!
In 1967, ‘Hatari!’ had its network debut on ABC and I was so mad at what the broadcasters did; they took the main credits and stuck it along with Henry Mancini’s wonderful theme, at the end of the telecast, leaving this awful jump cut as the crew prepare to leave the Ngorogoro crater after the opening chase, to Kurt (played by Hardy Kruger) instantaneously arriving at the compound to pick up Brandy (Michele Giradon) many hours later. It literally cuts from noon day to dusk! Jarring!
Here is the opening rhinoceros chase and the main title credits that follow a couple of scenes later.
Oddly enough, I was never a John Wayne fan, though as a kid I did like Red Buttons. but it was music, the location, and the cinematography that had me enthralled. Director Howard Hawks' signature use of ensemble acting also added to the film's appeal, though I was too young to realize the technique for what it was at the time.
I didn't realize a lot of things then. Now with hindsight, I can see how 'Hatari!' was very much a product and reflection of its time. There are societal artifacts that clearly date the film. However progressive it tied to be - going from the genre of the big game, safari hunt to wild animal capture or utilizing an"international" cast - "Hatari!' is still entrenched in some outdated notions.
True, the animals are no longer being shot for sport,but they are being ruthlessly hunted nonetheless to be wrested from their native habitat merely to become the captive property of zoos of the world.
The said "international" cast consists only of westerners. And sadly, the most telling indictment of all against the film is the fact that only nine words of English, in the picture's entire 2 hours and 37 minute running length, is given to the actors playing the indigenous Africans!
Arga, the House"boy" has three:
"In room,"
"Bad?"
Three scenes later, the Safari Bar Bartender (played by Emmett Smith), has the remaining six:
"Safari Bar. Yes sir, they're here!"
That's it!
The adult, African extras that make up the Momella Compound staff and catching crew are repeatedly referred to as "boys" throughout the film.
What's dismaying, is the racist assumptions deemed so unquestionably normative. Yet even today, sixty three years later, the white male gaze and perspective still predominate in many a big budget, motion picture. It's getting better, but not fast or far enough.
There are sexist tropes as well. Right at the start, Pockets (Red Buttons) first line in the film is to quip about the weaving rhino "This one's got to be a female! She can't make up her mind which way to go!" Incidentally, the rhino's gender changes from feminine to masculine once it has gored The Indian / Little Wolf (played by a Caucasian Bruce Cabot). "Hatari", i.e., "danger", means male as well, I suppose.
Undoubtedly, the dating advice concerning the roles to be played by men and women garners many an eye roll.
Okay, that does it for my critique, which also must include myself, as I still find the romantic chemistry charming, chiefly for its nostalgic familiarity. I grew up on Hollywood romance, finding myself still affected by it. Oh well,
I''m sure missing many other things.
The rhino gender changes from "her" to "him" the more dangerous it is perceived to be.
'Hatari!' even had its world premiere in my home town of San Francisco with cast members John Wayne, Elsa Martinelli, Red Buttons, and Bruce Cabot live on stage, in person, not to mention Sonya, the cheetah being the fifth “cast member’ present!
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Yes, for decades I even had the Dell comic book (which I unfortunately lost in the mid 1990's)
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Many years later in the early 1990's I went to the San Francisco Fleishhacker Zoo, as it was then known, and stopping with my friends two daughters, Sarah and Stephanie, to see the elephants, listened as Sarah, struck up a conversation with one of the staff. She in turn shortly found out I had seen 'Hatari!' as a child thirty years earlier. That's when the staffperson, becoming all excited, suddenly couldn't wait tell me and the girls that it was "Tembo", the film's main baby elephant herself, standing before us, all grown up and in the pink! (Sorry for that last pun.) Needless to say, I was simply gobsmacked!
Addendum: There’s information on IMDB wherein another zoo in Europe is claiming “Tembo” to have been theirs. Well, as there were three baby elephants in the film, who knows which zoo has who.
At 80 years out today, what has humanity, the world over, learned?
I posted my rhetorical question to Facebook and got and immediate, first-time reply from a casual acquaintance I "friended" on the social media platform some twenty years ago. Regrettably, his disheartening response only served to illustrate humankind's pernicious blindspots and ongoing obstinacy to improve.
The emphatic lesson learned, according to his comment (and by inference, the only lesson to be learned), is that a nation shouldn't sneak attack another having the technical superiority to rain down fire in return. Indeed, going on to recite Isoroku Yamamoto's "sleeping giant" quote, he concludes, with both Hiroshima and Nagasaki as proof.
In the face of such schoolyard, ass-whooping, myopic, juvenile jingoism (younger than me, this callous commenter wasn't even born at the time of the Pearl Harbor attack - nor was I) and utterly missing my broader point about warfare in general, I was left to lament, "It's as I feared, we're not learning at all."
I wasn't just speaking of one particular conflict of one particular group of nations or peoples. In fact in nationalists such as he, I see the Japanese, I see the Americans, I see the Nazi's, I see the Russians, I see the Israeli's, the Sudanese, the capitalists, the communists, the Haitians, et cetera. I see all the the armed, I see the good soldier, and all the factions, between nations, and within, everywhere, always warring, and pointing out the "other" as well as the accusing finger of blame.
Am I morally superior? I doubt it. Am I enlightened? I am the village idiot. I am the child who doesn't understand what it is I see. I see horror, I see mayhem, I see systematic murder and maiming. I see unspeakable violence being threatened and homicidal vengeance being "rained down". This is diplomacy?
This is honorable?
Still, it continues. Unstopped. It is being born anew and fostered, generation after generation (take my Facebook commenter for instance). What I find abhorrent is how it festers in the thinking and attitudes of so many - making Hell on Earth.
Sorry for my ramble. It is hard so see hope for humankind dashed.
I wondered if at first to leave the Facebook comment up (along with my reply) not wishing to thcensor disparate points of view. I thought to use it as an object lesson perhaps. However, when I saw the other reprehensible, blog posts made by this account holder (who is unashamedly proud of their religiousity - go figure) I began to feel their latest comment, a canker instead. And in the end, I did not wish platform it.
So I deleted both our replies to my post and, not desiring to associate myself with warmongering, "unfriended" this particular apologist. I will not be an avenue to the inevitable, the hate spawned by hawkishness. It has such a big stage to spread its ills already, that it does not need mine.
Are my actions severe? Is my judgement prejudicial? Am I self-righteous? However, it is the little delusions we tell ourselves, the flag-waving, the tiny justifications, I fear and despise. The rationalizations for war must end. I hope I can do my part.
These are the thoughts I managed to jot. I will go back and tidy, what I, for the moment, have hastily written.
Above Images: Pictorial Press Ltd., DPA Picture Alliance, Alamy
Might is all that matters (not quite cousin to might makes right)
Although I haven't any audience at all save myself, when looking at my blog posts and considering the ills of the world at large, I can't help but wonder how my entries would be viewed by others, Words such as fatuous, frivolous, meaningless, pointless, self-absorbed, self-indulgent, trifling, trivial, useless, vacuous, wasteful spring to mind.
Am I not the least bit aware of the sociopolitical and environmental horrors transpiring about me?
I am.
Why don't I occasionally direct my writings to some of those issues? If I were well-spoken, knowledgeable, and intelligent, I would. Believe me, I would. I do care and am deeply impacted by the weightier matters that abound. I just don't have the competence, eloquence, or skill-set, I believe, to address them.
What do I think of the horrendous genocide being perpetrated by the nation state of Israel on Palestine? ("Shooting fish in a barrel" as a number of the soldiers and security forces are doing.) How do I feel about the inexcusable and deliberate mass starvation in full view and evidence?
I'm a pacifist and eupraxosphist, and my mind literally screams at the horror of it! I hate war - all forms of it! I do not think it honorable in the least! When I see what warfare, nationalism, and service has done to my family members, friends, and others, I spit bituminous bile. That humankind, all over the world, can routinely sink to such barbarity!
But who listens to a little punk like me? I am nobody.
What are my thoughts concerning the open attack on democracy here in the States and the world over? To think that heartlessness, hate, violence, and cruelty are the order of the day. Esurient and unfettered capitalism is devouring our planet at a devastating rate, and consigning our progeny to an disastrous, environmental fate we may be already unable to stop for them, let alone reverse!
Peace loving as I would wish to be, even I am sometimes tempted to say "eat the rich"!
The rights of people of color, of which I am one, the rights of women, and of the LGBTQIA are being trampled before my eyes. The candle of enlightenment is being snuffed by the mendacious, malevolent, murderous, and malicious. What do I say?
The world is going to Hell in a proverbial handbasket, with those currently in power, callously slamming the levers as far forward as they can - full throttle! I almost can't believe it. Yet recklessness and irresponsibility are becoming more the norm everyday.
Currently, this is the photo that haunts me.
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| Muhammad Zakariya Ayyoub al-Matouq, an 18-month old child in Gaza who faces life-threatening malnutrition. Photograph by Anadolu - Getty Images |
There are days when I literally sick of it.
STOP!!!
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| Alamogordo, New Mexico, July 16, 1945 |
"A few people laughed, a few people cried... Most people were silent."
"I supposed we all thought that, one way or another."*
*NBC White Papers: 'The Decision to Drop the Bomb' (airdate: 1965-01-05)
Twenty-three years ago Brian Vouglas and I collaborated on a birthday spoof created for Karl-Heinz Teuber and his celebrants. Sadly, for the wider public, the 2002 video files have been not available until the present. However, in Karl's memory, this newly reworked version (edited for time and music) can now be enjoyed. ;-) Starring: Brian Vouglas
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Oh, I just learned earlier today (July 16, 2025) that we've passed the 100th anniversary of the Scopes "Monkey" Trial (July 10th ~ 21st, 1925).
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| William Jennings Bryan on the witness stand (left) being questioned by Clarence Darrow (right). |
While the actual trial and subsequent appeal had no immediate legal impact, its cultural and sociological legacy still reverberates in the American psyche to this day.
In clearing out the shelving and drawers, to prepare for the work to be done on the kitchen cabinetry, my sister Yvette and I came across this...
The molcajete (mortar and pestle) once belonging to our grandmother on our father's side. It is probably a century or so old. We wondered whether to continue to hold onto it or not, when I thought to see if the familia Sanchez mostly living in Southern California would like the simple stone instrument passed down to them.
I asked our cousin Ruth Gonzalez nee Sanchez, and she was thrilled to have the heirloom. Grandmother's molcajete is now safely in Ruth's possession. Thank you UPS.
This Californian State pair is hereby now...
...a Real person! Woot!
Eleven days later, on June 27, 2025, my Drivers' License / Real ID arrived in the post! Yay!
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Change is afoot.
My sister is having the cabinetry refaced. What once was, since the home was newly constructed, is now...
Voila!
Refacing courtesy of Reborn and Jimmy and Nathan.
Reborn Home Solutions' on-site auditor. [If it is possible, I'll get the gentleman's name and update the blog.]
Subcontractors Jimmy and his son Nathan.
UPDATE: Saturday, July 12, 2025
The refacing is completed! A different crew finished the three remaining drawers.
Forty six years ago... (I'm always writing about my past. So be it. The past continues in me.) ...I began in earnest to keep my pledge to someone, to set them as free as my heart was capable of doing, and to never cross their path. That rule was only bent on four occasions (three at the insistence of my psychologist, and the last one totally by accidental happenstance). Save for those four exceptions, this individual's life and mine have never crossed.
I have tried my best, never to darken their day, but now and then our worlds indirectly touch. A few years ago (I may do a backdated post) I stumbled on a Facebook video clip taken in 2017 where the camera swished past this unexpected someone in a pan. Its motion blur did not prevent me from instantly recognizing them. Bump!
Now, tonight Facebook strikes again!
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| Redacted to guarantee privacy. |
You see, apart as we two are to each other, she and I still sporadically share many of the same long-time acquaintances.
This makes befriending old colleagues online difficult, as I never know who actively, to this day, keeps in touch with with the woman I am doing my best to avoid. The one I call "She". This was the case in the 2017 video incident, wherein I was considering sending a Facebook Friend Request to a past acquaintance having completely overlooked the probability of her own ongoing friendship with him.
Surprise, surprise, smack in the video of his I was naively checking out, there she was, front and center, among the videotaped group of guests gathered at his house to celebrate Christmas! Although I should have, I did not see that coming. Talk about a blindside! I still recall the hair-raising shock I experienced!
Alas as an unintended result of my promise to her, I subsequently had to pass on requesting my former acquaintance's friendship, seeing as she was still involved in his life. Not to have done so would have violated the conditions of my self-imposed exile.
This time however, it was the algorithm at work, and not my slip-up that bumped our worlds for the present.once again.
Currently, I have a longtime Facebook Friendship with, my former roommate and mentor from the past. We met fifty four years ago and have always remained in touch. Later on, after he married, he also became a family friend of "She" - her children and his were fast, San Francisco playmates back in the day. (This by the way, was the basis of my near run-in with her at his house in 1991 - the last occasion where my standing rule was bent, albeit by accident. Unawares, I had come to visit his daughters; unaware, she had come to drop off her sons.)
His daughters are also Facebook Friends of mine; one of them, very recently.
Well, it didn't take long then, for the social media site to put things together, and shortly make a friend suggestion on and of its own:
Tonight, I was just asked if I would perhaps know and like to connect with the son of "She', the younger of her two boys and middle child of three. The younger daughter of my former roommate was his childhood playmate. Again, I should not have been surprised.
Yikes!
Be assured, I will not request to befriend him, I will keep clear, nor use him or his account to learn anything about "She". I will not ingratiate myself nor will I drop my current associations - all these people are innocent - but I will conduct myself with a measured amount of caution and prudence, from this time forward.
If this female significant and I ever are to run into each other, it must be by accident, or by her wish and instigation, and not through any machination on my part.
So much folderol some would say, but then again, she's been able to build and live a life completely free and clear of me.
I keep my word.
Solemnly.
2025-07-20 21:30:00
This time it's the daughter, whose current photo I have just seen. She too is a long-time intimate friend of my Facebook acquaintance. She bears the same first name and was my friend's childhood compatriot and house guest.
This incident now makes it thrree strikes and I'm totally out of the picture once again! My big words mean nothing!
Forgive my invisibility, I feel a little bit low right now. It's hard being absolutely irrelevant.
I am superfluous. Forever superfluous.
2025-07-21 00:30:00
Seeing as superfluousness is a constant condition for me anyway, I merely stepped away for a moment to scribble a few lines of poetry (or "woetry" as I call it). That did the trick and got me outta my funk until the next emotional blow.
However, just for a second or more, I felt the onset of an even uglier emotion, a dour anxiety that has struck me only a very few times in life. It even goes beyond my unrequited woes to something more dismal, and I have had these horrific attacks even as child.
Fortunately, I was able snap myself from going there, and the awfulness ended almost as quickly as it started! Whew! This unspeakable state is almost like all of the "mean reds" and blues thrown together. I just escaped - barely.
As you know from the prior post, I punctured a PVC pipe feeding our sprinklers, that's the bad news, with the good news being that I was able, out of pocket, to have the pipe immediately repaired. Thank you Juan Delgado!
Well, today I was awakened from my sleep* with a phone from Chris Morales, the Service Manager at Hanlees Fairfield Nissan Nissan proper, informing my sleep-befuddled mind, that Nissan had given his department the green light to have the transmission of my 2018 Nissan Sentra SV replaced a second time. And what's more, absolutely free!
The vehicle's intermittent mystery shudder, I and the service technicians were experiencing, was finally deemed to be related to the transmission, and as the recent replacement was still under an unlimited miles, three year warranty, Nissan gave the word to proceed with a second replacement.
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| The interior door to Hanlees Fairfield Nissan's service department. |
By 9:50AM I was able to hand over the car to Hanlees.
I can only hope, this will do the trick. We shall see.
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
Chris calls with the great news that the Sentra is ready! Christine, their employee later picks me up. Hanlees' technicians have test driven the vehicle with the new transmission, even doing some unrelated work on the rear suspension, and all in all, finding no shudder.
I get in the car and sense nothing on my way back home, whereas before, there was frequently an incident with a faint but distinctive shudder upon braking and accelerating.
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| The Exit leading from the Service Department to the parking lot. |
* As to my sleep, I was having a long-ass dream about John Cleese, a daylong live television, special event he was hosting, regarding his past TV productions, and forthcoming series debut. I was in the audience and involved to a point were Cleese knew and called me by name. There were others characters involved, including a fellow audience member seated besides me, who was a reporter and scientific genius. Karl and Brian were also there, trying to get me thrown out by security unless I gave the pair the spotlight. (When I left my seat to help Cleese, Karl first demanded, then stole my place, insisting the seat was rightfully his!) Felix was away in Germany.
Turns out, that Cleese, the audience member next to me, and an African-American journalist, who was launching her own justice-themed news network, all came to my defense. (The audience member going so far as to interrupt all live media, playing the part of mad scientist bent on world conquest - he was only pretending - to name Karl, Brian, and the security team as his henchmen with the receipts to prove it.) In the end it was Karl and Brian getting themselves ejected, the tables having been turned.
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| Oh dear. |
I thought to surprise my sister with a path light when she got home. She's currently vacationing in Mallorca, Spain. Instead, wouldn't you know it, I badly nick the PVC pipe servicing the front sprinklers while driving in the stake for the light post into the hardened earth!
I could have exercised greater care in a thousand and one ways, but no, in my eagerness, I thought I was clear of the line until I took that whack too far. This is not going to go down well.
Damn "Murphy's Law"!
Luckily, bad as it is, three things so far are in my favor.
Firstly, the pipe I struck is leading from its feed valve to the sprinklers. As long as the valves are shut, no water escapes downstream. (the standing water you see in the photos is the residual left over from the now stopped leakage, once I shut the valve, to terminate the flow.)
Secondly, my next door neighbor Alfred, shares the same Landscaper and Gardener, Juan Delgado.
Thirdly, Alfred was home when I texted him to see if he had Juan's contact info - he did - and Juan himself was home to answer my subsequent telephone call.
Juan will stop by the address tomorrow morning at 8:30am to check out the damage. I sent him these two close-up photos as well
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| Foolishness in evidence |
As I write, I hope, I hope this will cost me not too much out of pocket as I only have a few hundred at my disposal. I also hope the shock of the blow didn't transfer to the control valves.
| I thought the line ran perpendicular to the front fence (out of frame at the top of the picture) instead of parallel. |
Oh for a time machine! If I had missed the pipe, my sister would have had solar powered light by which to see the dials on the control valves at night as well as having light on the path. None of that matters now I guess.
UPDATE:
Hallelujah! Juan Delgado of J&J's Company, came through! He found that the damage was only confined to the puncture and was able to splice a small section of PVC piping to cover the break.
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| Juan Delgado preparing the PVC couplings (as seen from the outdoor security camera I was also testing). |
By the time I returned from a short trip to the bank with the monies, he was done and cleaning up. For what he charged, I gladly and gratefully doubled it. Juan was happy*.
What a relief!
I did ask him, although, if he could, not to necessarily bring it up with my sister. Yes, I suppose the extra amount was also "hush" money, but Juan Delgado deserved it for saving my neck! Boy, was I in a pickle and ever in need of a rescue!
2ND UPDATE:
It was pointed out to me by my good friend, who works in the management business, that it was an unfair thing to ask any silence of Juan, as my sister is his employer. For anyone, to be asked to keep a secret, or divide their loyalties, and work against their boss is a responsibility I haven't any right or authority to level.
"Let Juan know that you will tell your sister about the damage you caused, but that you don't when. That way, he's completely off the hook."
My friend is right, and I immediately informed Juan of my decision to tell my sister at the right time. It was emotional panic that prompted my earlier plea.
RESOLVE: I swear, on my soul, Never again will I act on my own initiative, with regards to home improvements, ever. The risk was, and is, just too great! And for goodness sake. stop giving ol' "Murphy" the upper hand!
*Juan additionally encouraged me to take greater care the next time, pointing out that the pipes were originally installed at too shallow a depth.
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Here is a personal plug for Juan's great service:
Juan Delgado
J&J's Company
Phone: (707) 857-6346
(707) 655-7231
Bonded & Insured
License Number: 11716853
This week my sisters are spending their holiday on the island of Mallorca.
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| Yvette and Georgene arrive at their two story accommodations! |
They are staying at the Marriott's Club Son Antem Villa located in Llucmajor, Spain.
Upon her return, Yvette said of her and Georgene's one week stay, given that the isle is larger than the state of Rhode Island, there just wasn't enough time to explore everywhere and experience everything. She loved their visit, Mallorca also being the top most travel destination for Europeans because of its Mediterranean climes.
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In 1961 Deluxe Reading followed their 'Man in Space' toy set from the year before with the Deluxe 'Playmobile', a battery-operated* car dashboard affair, complete with turn key, engine sound, working horn and wipers, turn signals, a push and slide button console, adjustable visors and mirror, et cetera. All the play item required then was a passenger or two.
That's where my sister Angie came in...
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| Deluxe Reading Playmobile |
"Watch out for that tree," she cried! "You're taking the turn too tightly! Slow down! We're all gonna die!!" How Angie relished playing the part of my front seat passenger, a nervous Nellie, hysterically grabbing and clinging to me for her life's sake, impeding my ability to drive! I hadn't even turned on the ignition, before she began strangling me, much less shifting the gear out of "park"!
"Oh no, there's a chicken crossing the road!"
My mom well remembers how beset this luckless driver was by my over-the-top, overwrought sib! It was one of her favorite recollections, especially my ending up having to call out for rescue from Angie. Who knew, how terrifying a drive could be, having never even left the kitchen table!
*It took six D cells to power the device!
"...to launch Man in Space?"
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| Gantry, rocket launcher |
This commercial from that time answers that!
I still remember* how absolutely large my eyes were and agape my mouth became when I tore open the Christmas wrapping to uncover the Deluxe Reading 'Man in Space: Operation X-500' toy assembly within! "Wow! What a toy!"
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| 1960 Ad art |
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| Fuller advertisement copy |
$11.88 for the complete set?! Sounds like a steal! However, that would be roughly $126.24 in today's skyrocketing prices! (Pun intended.) Like, out of this world! Astronomical!
*Funny thing: memory. I vividly recall many elements of the set, while other items not at all!
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| Launching a new lawn. |
Out goes the old lawn, or in this case, went the old lawn. In with the new! Courtesy of our landscaper/gardener, Juan Delgado.
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| Purdy |
| Northwood Drive | - Serenity on the surface. Yet even the Sentra is deceptively guised. |
Don't let the serene scenery fool ya. It's been a bitch!
All the simple little things, each beginning innocently enough and as innocuously as one could expect or should expect, only to become full fledged hassles, every last one of them.
First there was my brand new, Canon EOS R8 camera (a carry-over from March) that was defective right out of the box. By the start of this week it had returned repaired, and past my initial test. However, I had to wait until midweek to buy a protection plan, now that I had sufficient funds.
While I was waiting for the monies, I noticed that our equally brand new Xumo stream box was blinking incessantly. A recommended restart should correct it. It did, but only for a short spell. The blinking returned. Now the service was intermittently failing to launch. Then the signal from the box was altogether lost. So I had to take a whole day running down every technical scenario as to what and where the malfunction could be. That there is no user manual available, physical or online, save for the half page quick start guide, did not help. In the end, I had to speak to two Xfinity support agents, and neither could restore the box. They arranged to have a field technical come to the house.
Meanwhile, my sister was having trouble, getting into her online banking account, which wouldn't recognize her legitimate password. Nevertheless, it also wouldn't let her reset the password, and she was forced to wait for a live agent. Finally, when they came on the line, it took more than an hour to resolve the technical system snafu. My sister was not at fault.
Now, her BMW key fob was weakening, indicating a need to have its battery changed. Did I know how to open the battery compartment? My sister could not see a way, nor could I. So I went to the internet, to find an answer. Would you believe hers was the key fob series made before BMW switched over to replaceable batteries! Yes with some soldering and Crazy Glue the battery could technically be changed out for another, or one could just fork over $500 bucks for a new key fob. Screw that! All my sister needed to do was pull out her second fob. Now where she keep it?
She was also having her taxes prepared. This year my tax information, would play a part, but in order for the tax preparer could proceed, the IRS rewired one extra item: my IP Pin number. Did I happen to know it offhand? I knew of no such pin. In all my IRS dealings, no mention of an Identity Protection pin was ever addressed. So I went to MyIRS to find out as April 15th was rapidly approaching.
There was no direct reference to the pin listed in my account profile. I searched under help, to learn if there was a way discover if there was a number associated to my Social Security Number. There was. I could request to retrieve the number online simply by supplying some key information.
I started the process. Oh dear, my street address is wrong. Easy enough, I'll merely update the information. No can do. It turns, I will have to download, fill out, and physically submit by snail mail to Kansa City, a Form 8822 Change of Address in order to effect the update. Once approved, the I can retrieve the number online (if indeed I have one assigned to me in the first place). But that will take weeks and weeks! I will have to call IRS which is the second option.
In the mean time, MyIRS is strongly urging me to register with ID.me in order to facilitate my sign-in(s). I commence those proceedings. I just need my California Driver's License. I supply the number and image... Nope, not sufficient! Please submit your Passport and License, oh and your portrait. I set up the webcam. Done. Nada. Now I'm being asked to add my SSN card. Okay, I'll go along, sure.
No how, no way! A direct video call is necessary to complete my registration! An hour later, Conrad (Conner?) from ID.me has me hold the three pieces of evidence up to the webcam before my identity can be established. The proof now approved, the registration is concluded and my password accepted. Whew!
That leaves the matter of the IP Pin.
Early, the next morning, I get on the horn with the IRS. Surprisingly, there is no waiting for the agent, who answer immediately. Here's the short: After, a short 45 minutes it comes down to this. There is fact an IP Pin attached to my IRS/SSN account. (Years ago, Identity Theft was assumed regarding a 48 year old systems mix-up with another individual. Only the IRS never apprised me of the pin number.
Unfortunately, the agent could not divulge the number over the phone. He could issue a new one though and have that number sent to me. Regrettably, that procedure would require a minimum of three weeks to finalize, making that April the 23rd, eight days after the Tax filing deadline for my sister. Here's what she could do instead: turn in her taxes by mail, that would defeat the electronic online IP Pin challenge. It would necessarily delay my sister's return by a few months, but she would still to claim her deductions. I am relieved to know on a side note that the order of my name, was not an issue. Additionally, my address was updated in the phone call.
I inform my sister, whose passes the suggestion to her tax preparer. Will do.
The Xfinity technician pays a house-call. He tries all the solutions I tried days earlier, even the Ethernet cable. No signal, fer shur. Retrieving a second Xumo stream box from his equipment truck, he plugs it in. Signal, but no set-up! It is failing to complete! This has never happened to him he exclaims! After bringing in a third box - success! Score: two broken boxes; one good!
Uh-oh, now my sister, in the other room, is having difficult with her online banking! The sign-in won't accept her legitimate password, nor will it permit her to reset it! It just hangs! Only after an hour on the phone with a representative, does the person move the process forward. The password is reset and her sign-in successful.
A day later, she finds her second key fob, and I, after some searching, the information to Car Keys Express, the company that supplied me with a replacement fob.
April 4th, sees my Canon 4 Year CarePak protection plan go into effect, covering March 3, 2025 - March 2, 2029.
Oh me, oh my, this time it's my Adobe Premiere Elements 2025 which has been getting sicker and sicker by the month. I suspect the cause to be a corrupted file that was carried over from my last laptop during the file and system transfer. In any case, the video won't properly play, but freezes or glitches wildly, rendering the editing impossible and the final pass superfluous. Sigh.
I told you. You were warned. This month has started with a bust! Tranquility Base here,... Kablam!
WHOA NO!!
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