Eclipse!

Annular Eclipse, March 20th, 2012. Photo by
Daev Roehr. Used with permission

On March 30^th, 1970 I experienced my first eclipse. And it was a doozy. It was a full, total solar eclipse of the sun – and I was 2 months shy of my 5^th birthday.

It has always been the 4th item in my memory. The first was looking at our house on Los Coyotes Diagonal (Yes, that was the street name). The second was Apollo 11 lifting off: 

Stay awake! No - sleepy. Look at the TV. No – nothings happening. Just watch. Tired…. Here it comes. ZZZzzzz Look now! Why? there’s noth - BOOM Woooooowww…..!!

My third memory was staring up at the moon and trying to spot the astronauts up there. And the fourth memory, just 8 months later, was the eclipse.

Racewalking vs. Running: The Throwdown challenge.

She how smiley she is - and how blotto I am?

Admiral Karen and I have different ideas about running.

She, the Capricorn ballerina prefers the technically precise, mentally disciplined sport of racewalking. It’s a very odd, very efficient way of covering ground. Perfect for a former dancer.

Me, the triple-air-sign triathlete spazzoid prefers “Chi Running”, which my coach described to me as “Run like a 3 year old.” It’s a cab-forward style, all arms and legs, but still low impact. It’s a very odd, very efficient way of covering ground.

The San Jose Giants

It was ‘round ‘bout the time that we watched a fan throwing rolls of Toilet Paper at the orange gorilla in the Port-a-Pottie on 3^rd base that I knew we were strangers in a strange land.

The 10 weirdest meals I’ve ever had.

1986, Beaver Utah. Sadly, neither the
first or last time that I've had a french
fry in my beard.

My history of strange meals can be traced back to 1970. I was five years old and had just gotten out of 6 weeks in the hospital for the world’s most expensive tonsillectomy. I was in there so long that I had lost the ability to feed myself, and so I went on a crash course on how to hold utensils and find my mouth in time for 1^st grade.

My Mother never particularly enjoyed cooking for all of us, and so her mind would wander at times. This led to a long-standing family habit of conducting triage at the dinner table to see what Mom had forgotten to serve. Usually we could figure out what was missing before a pot boiled over or the oven started belching smoke – but not always.

I remember her one attempt at croutons – a cookie sheet of carbon. Me standing on a chair and waving a dish towel at the fire alarm was a weekly occurrence. 

The Go Green St. Patrick’s Day 4K 5K 8K 10K 8 Mile 10 Mile and Half Marathon Clusterfark of a Run

Vasona Park, Los Gatos, March 17^th, 2012

I yelled at the volunteer on the course, and now I feel bad. All of us walkers, racewalkers and runners were smack dab in the middle of the worst run race I’ve ever encountered, we were at the end of our patience in the middle of our races, and so we took it out on the only Official we could find: The sad-faced teenager with the red mesh vest standing there holding a little red flag.

I feel bad because I’ve been that guy. I’ve worn that vest. I’ve held that stupid flag. And I know that it’s not his fault. The volunteers are the backbone of any race and they are so often neglected and treated poorly. I know the drill – your club is the sponsor of the race, or your girlfriend is a contestant or you hear that more bodies are needed. Or you’re just stupid and enjoy abuse.

In any case you show up on the morning of the race (often to some park or piece of road that you’ve never been to before), you are handed the vest, you are trucked to a spot on a course that you are unfamiliar with, you are given a single instruction, tossed a flag, and that’s your day.

Sometimes 3 or 4 hours into your shift the truck pulls up and someone tosses you an antique turkey sandwich wrapped in saran wrap. And you spend the day waiting for runners (or cyclists) and when you see them you point your flag in the appropriate direction.

Hey, Remember 'Newspapers'?

I told a friend that I had an appointment to meet with an editor from my local newspaper. Her response was quick and telling: “Why?”

It’s a valid question. The downward plunge of newspaper readership in America is at such a precipitous descent that an Olympic ski jumper faced with such an angle would just slowly scoot back onto their little bench. 

The 4th Annual Witches Ball - a Review

Your Author,
in full plumage.

“Everything can be broken except the human desire for connection.”

The 4th annual “Witches Ball” (Benicia) will not go down in History as one of the Great Evenings. A lot went wrong, and yet, you cannot rob people of a good time if they are bound and determined to have one.

The problems were numerous and most transpired long before the first car pulled into the parking lot.

1)    The name, first off. There are literally hundreds of Witches Balls around the country at all times of the year. Trying to find information about this particular event became more difficult right out of the gate.

2)    The Facebook event page. Here it is: Witches Ball. Now doesn’t that just FIRE your imagination? Imagination is necessary here, because aside from the map, there is NO INFORMATION at all to be found here.

Pantheacon Post-Mortem (part 5)

(Or, what I actually did, versus what I said I was gonna do.)

Part 5: Sunday, SUNDAY, Sunday.

Ready to serve beer at Oktoberfest.

(You won't get all the running jokes if you haven't studied parts ONE, TWO, THREE and FOUR. Just Sayin'.)

I am one of those annoying ‘Morning People’. Bright and chipper at Oh-My-Gods-AM and ready for a 10 mile hike at the crack of dawn. And all without caffeine. As such, I have learned to hide my loathsome freakishness from the rest of the world.

When Admiral Karen and I stay in hotels I always prepare an ‘escape pile’ every evening. I know I’ll be up before her, so I make a stack of clothes, phone, computer, comb, etcetera so I can sneak out at first light when I am up and bouncing off the walls. It has made for a happier marriage and less bruising and swelling on my part.

So, even though I was up till all hours on Saturday night I still jettisoned myself via the escape pile at 6am Sunday Morning. Down at Café Ho-Hum I bumped into my friend Nancy, who is another of the “Morning People” mutants. We compared notes over breakfast.

Pantheacon Post-Mortem (part 4)

(Or, what I actually did, versus what I said I was gonna do.)

Part 4: Two-Nap Saturday and the best evening ever at Pcon.

"Pleased to meet you. The
name's Dionysus."

(Please start your three-hour tour with parts ONE, TWO and  THREE. Thanking you.)

Saturday……Saturday? Saturday. where am I? Hell, who am I? Oh yeah. It’s Pantheacon. Aaarghblbblblbl…..gimme a minute here…..

Admiral Karen was also up early, so we had a leisurely breakfast at café Ho-Hum.

Saturday, 9am

We chose Village Witchery 102, the follow-up to the “Egg Roll” class I had taken yesterday. Hexeba obviously wasn’t at the same parties I was at last night, as she was bright and fiery at oh-my-goddess-in the morning. In this class we were presented with ideas on what to fill our various juju bags with. It was like a homey cooking show hosted by Marie Laveau.

Pantheacon Post-Mortem (part 3)

(Or, what I actually did, versus what I said I was gonna do.)

Part 3: "Dude, it's only FRIDAY".

(You will probably benefit from first at least scanning parts ONE and TWO. There. All ready? Let's go.)

Well, apparently we DO need
our Steeenking Badges.

Friday morning. Soooo nice to be at the Con already. A dawdling breakfast at café Ho-Hum and then a leisurely stroooollll back up to the room to take a long shower and get ready for the opening bell. Will I try out the hotel’s body wash, body spray, activator gel, and post-conditioner-vapor-hood-scalp treatment? I think I will.

First order of business is Registration. It’s time to get my con badge and get this party officially started! But who do I spy in line – Belfry! Ack! No wait, she’s calm and pleasant. Hey, she’s working! She’s directing traffic for the Reg folks, no doubt to earn a Reg badge by working for the Convention. Yay! Good for her. Maybe her story would have a happy ending after all. (That’s foreshadowing with a touch of Irony - for those of you playing along at home.) 

Pantheacon Post-Mortem (part 2)

(Or, what I actually did, versus what I said I was gonna do.)

Part 2: Thursday's Adventures.

(Recap of PART 1: Angus befriends a crazy lady on Tuesday and sends her to Jason and Ari’s house to terrorize them. This is roundly considered to be a poor move on my part.)

I arrived at the Doubletree on Thursday at 2:30pm, after hitching a ride with Matthew and Nico. I had with me just a skeletal version of the ‘Con Kit’ to tide me over 24 hours until Admiral Karen got there on Friday afternoon.

There were 3 people working the counter and 4 pagans trying to get their rooms. Aaaaaah…. That’s worth the $93.00 bucks right there. But the Doubletree is still the Doubletree, even when there is no line and plenty of empty rooms: When I left the counter Matthew was freaking out that only 3 of their 4 reservations were present. I went up to the 6^th floor, where I found that my room was on the freeway side. Didn’t get a cookie either. Ah, well.

Pantheacon Post-Mortem (part 1)

(Or, what I actually did, versus what I said I was gonna do.)

Part 1: Packing, rescuing a Stray, and ruining things for everyone.

(Note: This series of posts is a rebuttal of sorts to my earlier POST about what I was planning on doing at Pcon. As even a cursory glance will attest, the earlier post is, in no way, a prerequisite for this one. C'est La Vie......)

Angus (Lughansadh), Amanda (Beltane) and Jason
(Samhain), in the Pagan Alliance room.

Pantheacon began on February 5^th this year. In my mind Pcon always takes center stage the day after Imbolc. Community Seed had a lovely ritual this year, very elaborate stage decoration, lighting, and some really strange music (Violin, Didgeridoo, Wooden frogs, rain sticks, Tibetan bells). We covered the entire huge room in butcher paper and then took it up in the middle of the rite to expose an elaborate, colorful design underneath. My music crew of mostly newbies came through with flying colors – literally. We changed costumes in the middle of the ritual.

Anyhoo, once I put away the bells and drums for a while its time to do the final run at Pcon Prep.

Travels with Jeff and Mutton

Jeff (Left) and Mutton (Right).

The word “Roadtrip” doesn’t translate well to other languages. Other countries are too small, or their train service is too efficient to really catch the nuance of how we Amuuricans pronounce it: “Roooadtrip.”

There is no phrase more quinessentially American. It immediately conjures up images of good friends, wacky adventures, serendipitous romance, and no doubt vast quantities of illegal substances. Well maybe back in the day, but now I am well into my forties – I even have a retirement plan. So it was the straight and narrow for me this time.

And what could lure a happily married man into a week long solo trek across the blasted wasteland of the American West? Welcome to Boomerville: My aging Mother was in the hospital again and this time……was the time to come on out. 

States Of Mind

The first big disappointment in my life that I can remember was the first time I crossed a border. I don't recall my exact age - somewhere in the "this many" era - but I know I was small enough to have to go over to the car window to look out. Not just glance over, but move over to it. 

Who was driving at the time is also hazy, but that's pretty academic: If it was Mom we were going 75 mph and looking for a campground; if Captain Daddy was at the helm we were dialed into 55 mph and looking for a cloud, so as to justify a motel. 

Emotions in Motion

Orville Redenbacher once related that he gave an ad company $10,000 to come up with a name for his popcorn. After months of claimed 'work' they returned with "Orville Redenbacher’s Gourmet Popcorn".

I say he got off easy. He could have been a carmaker. In the wide, weird world of marketing, no two groups have a bigger disconnect than the namers of cars and their intended audience. I know these things are supposed to affect my emotions. And they do. Oh, how they do. Let's take a look at some recent models…… 

Shadow O’er the North Coast

Your Humble Author. Just out of frame: The Monster.

We didn't set out to find a monster. We didn't set out to find anything in particular. We just found ourselves with the same week off work and decided to power up the Hybrid and point it North. We would wander through almost 1000 miles of California Coastline, from Santa Cruz to Eureka and back, and we would battle the monster at the end of our journey. Both ends of our journey, actually, at the very edges of the Western World - and beyond...... 

My Schedule at Pantheacon 2012

Your humble author, on a not-so-humble day.

Well, thanks to the nerdy gnomes at Ancient Ways, anyone can now easily create a custom Schedule for Pantheacon 2012. Now I don’t in any way fancy myself to be an expert on these things, but I have attended 9 Pcons, and by now I have a pretty good idea of what I will enjoy. So here are my choices for this year’s convention.

Now, just because I have a nifty, tailored schedule doesn’t mean that I’m going to follow the damned thing. This is a weekend for Admiral Karen and I to relax and have fun – there’s no way in Heaven that we’re going to be able – or even willing! – to see ALL of these rituals and seminars. We’d be catatonic basket cases by Saturday afternoon.

Plus I love to play ‘seminar divination’ during the day. I’ll be on my way to some room or another, but I’ll keep an inner eye out for other enticements on the way. I’ve been sucked into all sorts of wonderful workshops in this manner - one’s that I normally would not have circled.

And, if I can swing it, I love to give tarot readings in the vendor room, but the slots are usually taken by the grown-ups who are selling their books. But I'll try!

Finally, I am a world class napper. So there’s that too.

But, in a pie-in-the-sky scenario, with a camelbak full of Redbull and a well oiled Time Turner at my disposal, here’s how Pantheacon 2012 will shake down for me: