Is there any there there?

Gertrude Stein didn't think so, but that was in 1937.  She had returned to Oakland on a lecture tour, and couldn't find her childhood home.  But I think any town that produced both Gertrude and Jack London must have had a little something there.  Anyway, we're there now and we've been there for the better part of a week.  In fact, even if there wasn't anything there when we moved east in 1989, the intervening 23 years have been good to our old neighborhood.  Lots of trendy restaurants and shops.  No less than four (4) espresso houses in the four blocks between our place and BART.  The old Safeway is still there, but of course they now want to tear it down and build a megamarket complete with parking deck.

I'm of two minds about development in general, and with respect to this project, I can't figure out to which mind I should listen.  [Cynthia, wherever you are, please note the absence of the dangling preposition.]  On the one hand, College Avenue is pretty consistently jammed with traffic, especially between Alcatraz and Claremont where the Safeway is, and parking overflows into the neighborhood.  And the overcrowded old store is really pretty small by modern standards.  On the other hand, they would probably put in a specialty bakery, butcher counter, and a lot more fruit and vegetable racks, all of which would compete even more heavily with La Farine, Ver Brugge, and Yasai respectively.  It would indeed be terrible to see these great little shops driven out of business by the Colossus.

But there's another point to keep in mind here as well.  Yes, big chains and box stores eliminate individuality, kill off small businesses, and are politically incorrect.  But if you're scraping to get by and put food on the table every week, that cheap price which is lower than the competing small business could possibly match can be a godsend.   It's great to be able to afford locally grown, organic, pesticide-free, growth-hormone- free, non-genetically modified food, but before we get too snooty about Safeway and its cousins, let's take a moment to remember that many people can't afford Whole Foods, much less Yasai, La Farine, and Ver Brugge.

Meanwhile, in the blowing your own horn department, I noticed a recent Princeton commencement address by Michael Lewis, author of "Liars Poker", "Moneyball", and "The Big Short", among others.  Here's an excerpt:

My case illustrates how success is always rationalized. People really don’t like to hear success explained away as luck — especially successful people. As they age, and succeed, people feel their success was somehow inevitable. They don’t want to acknowledge the role played by accident in their lives. There is a reason for this: the world does not want to acknowledge it either......Life’s outcomes, while not entirely random, have a huge amount of luck baked into them. Above all, recognize that if you have had success, you have also had luck — and with  luck comes obligation. You owe a debt, and not just to your Gods. You owe a debt to the unlucky.

Now, refresh your memory by reviewing my first post on this blog (which, just to reassure you, was posted one month to the day before his speech).   Seems as if the celebration of randomness is definitely in the air these days.  But I'm still waiting for that commencement address extolling the virtues of atheism.  Actually,  I was shocked to discover that there really is an avowed atheist currently serving in the U.S. House of Representatives!  None other than good old Pete Stark, whose district is immediately to the south of Oakland.  It almost makes me want to move to Hayward.


And what of our travels?  Well, the road trip is on hold for a while.  For one thing, the Enterprise is once again in the shop, sadly.  This time it's the generator, which will be our third warranty repair so far.  We've been wondering if this should be three strikes and you're out, but maybe we should give it one more chance.  Haven't decided yet.  Even if it weren't in the shop, it would be in Carmel for the summer because I have a consulting gig in San Diego and Cherie is signed up for a stained glass workshop in Berkeley.  So the blog may undergo a brief hibernation while all this is going on.  But you might want to check in occasionally just to see if I've had any brilliant inspirations worth sharing.

West of Eden

My family moved to the Carmel Highlands in 1954, and we lived in the two small cabins on the property they bought for the better part of a year, before we moved into Carmel proper.  Those two cabins are still there today, and if, by "Eden", Steinbeck was referring to Corral de Tierra, aka "The Pastures of Heaven", a small picturesque valley nestled between the Los Laureles Grade and the Monterey Salinas Highway, then our place is indeed to the west and a bit south.  Just south of Point Lobos State Reserve, for those of you who have been there.  Cherie and I are presently trying to replace one of the cabins with a proper house, but that is a subject for another post, or perhaps for an entire blog of its own.  Suffice it to say here that the process has been ongoing for four years and we just had our first hearing. The good news is that we were unanimously approved.  The bad news is that there are more hearings ahead -- at least one and possibly as many as three more.

We pulled the Enterprise into our driveway in the late afternoon after a long but leisurely drive up the coast from San Simeon.  Now, some people think that US 101 is the coast highway, but these are the non-cognoscenti from Los Angeles and environs.   The people of the central California coast know that the coast highway is State Route 1, which begins in earnest a few miles north of San Simeon and continues to cling to the sheer cliffs of the Santa Lucia for the almost 90 miles to Carmel.   I had forgotten just how serpentine the road is, especially the section south of Lucia, which I have only driven a half-dozen times or so.   And in an RV, even one as easy to drive as the Enterprise, the perception is enhanced to say the least.  To make it even more exciting, there is continual construction on that road, mainly because of constant slides.  Mother Nature clearly doesn't want a road there, and it's not nice to fool around with Mother Nature, to paraphrase an old margarine commercial.

Indeed, the coast highway is a poster-child for 20th century technological hubris.  Begun in 1919, it was eventually finished as a WPA project in 1937 with the help of a number of San Quentin inmates who, according to Wikipedia, were paid 35 cents per day and had their sentences reduced in some unspecified manner.   I don't know what the numbers are, but I'd bet dollars to donuts that the State of California has spent ten, possibly a hundred times as much money over the years, inflation adjusted, to maintain that road than it did to build it in the first place.  After it was finished, it became practical for people to live along the road and so they did just that.  Now they depend on the road being open, so it has become a perpetual struggle against the elements, and of course  an endless public works project.  Even the Highlands, a mere 4 miles south of Carmel, has had a serious run-in with Mother Nature.  In the winter of 1998 there was a series of huge Pacific storms due to El Nino.  As a result, the Carmel River had one of its largest floods ever.  It washed out the Highway 1 bridge, effectively cutting off the Highlands and everything to the south.  Until a temporary bridge was put in, everyone had to be ferried across the river by helicopter.    

But back to our drive.  We passed Esalen, Nepenthe, and Post Ranch, and turned in at Ventana for a great lunch on the patio.  I had voted for Nepenthe for old times sake, because in the old, pre-new-age days it was the only game of its kind down there.  It was the 70's that brought us Esalen (formerly Slate's Hot Springs), Post Ranch, and Ventana. But Cherie wanted to check out the Ventana gallery to see if there were any fabulous Missy Loftons to lust after.  Missy's father Dick Lofton was a Carmel artist of some local renown when we arrived in '54, and it's safe to say that Missy is a chip off the old block.  Fortunately, the Ventana burger proved to be of uniformly high quality, and I didn't even have to mark it down because of the bun or the fries.  A lightly toasted sesame seed bun and crisp, skinny fries.   Definitely got an A.

I knew the Loftons quite well as a kid, mainly because Dick and Nancy were best friends with Cynthia and Russell Williams, our next-door neighbors in the Highlands.  Dick had been an artillery officer in WW II.   Every New Year's Eve he got dressed up in an old uniform complete with sword, and as the seconds ticked down to midnight he would bark out authentic sounding orders for the loading of the Williams' toy cannon with a 10-gauge blank.  On the stroke of midnight the sword flashed smartly downward, a very loud retort echoed through the Highlands, and the party shifted into high gear.   The children were never sent to bed, but generally fell asleep on the couch or the hearth reading comic books.

Cynthia loved children, having had five of her own, and attracted a large coterie of neighborhood kids, including me, by various devices such as stocking a large bin behind her living room couch with comic books and keeping it filled with the latest issues.  For some reason, the Archie comics were particularly popular.  The antics of Archie, Betty, Veronica, Reggie, and Jughead seemed to be of constant interest. I think Cynthia rather enjoyed them herself.  She maintained, and I believe rightly so, that comic books were a great way to induce children to teach themselves how to read.  She was also a strict grammarian, and would constantly correct improper usage such as "like" for "as", "good" for "fine", and of course "me" for "I" or vice versa.  A copy of Webster's Unabridged was prominently displayed on a countertop, and whenever anyone (usually a child but not always) asked about the meaning of a word, they were directed to look it up in Webster's.  I doubt that this would work today, because of the rate at which technology is creating new words.   I suppose we would go online instead.  But not Cynthia.  She refused to use any technology that had not already been invented by 1925, when she was 10.  This included TV, answering machines, microwave ovens, cellphones, and of course computers.  However, in her later years she relented a bit on TV because she liked to watch Giants baseball.  They won the World Series for the first time ever since they moved to San Francisco on her 95th birthday.  It was a great birthday present for what sadly proved to  be her last birthday.

Xanadu

The architect Mies van der Rohe famously said "Less is more", but 20th century America clearly wasn't listening.   On the contrary, "More is more" was the order of the day, and it still is.  2,000 sq. ft. used to be the size of a modest house.  Now it's the size of a master bedroom suite.  A large burger used to be 1/2 lb.  Now it's more like 1lb.   It is true that cars have gotten smaller,  leaving aside that automotive abomination, the SUV.   But somewhat paradoxically, their occupants have gotten larger.  It's a mystery to me why the comparatively svelte Americans of the 50's and 60's needed gigantic cars while their obese 21st century counterparts squeeze themselves into Priuses and mini-coopers.  Maybe it's because the price of gas has gone from $.29/gal. to $4.50/gal?

In any case, standing proudly at mid-century we find that supreme monument to excess known as the Hearst Castle.  We left Atwater Village and drove up 101, or as Angelinos would say, "the" 101, to San Simeon, stopping for pie and coffee at another monument to excess, the Madonna Inn.   This establishment is fabled, not for its food which is somewhat mediocre, but for its kitsch which is world-class.  Be sure to check out the men's room if you visit.

I have a theory about well, almost everything, but in particular how "the" got attached to the number of every freeway in Southern California.  Originally, the LA freeways had names like "The Pasadena Freeway", "The Harbor Freeway", "The Santa Monica Freeway",  "The San Diego Freeway", "The Hollywood Freeway", and so on. But as the freeways proliferated, they ran out of reasonable names, and just reverted to the numbers assigned by CalTrans.  But then, to be consistent, they started using the numbers on the already named freeways as well.  So "The Pasadena Freeway" became "The 110 Freeway", "The San Diego Freeway" became "The 405 Freeway" and so on, and finally they dropped the redundant "Freeway".   Probably BS, but it sounds good.

Bidding a fond farewell to the Madonna Inn, we eventually found our campsite at San Simeon State Park, and prepared for the next day's tour.  We had already taken the main tour on a previous visit, so we signed up for the upper floors tour instead.  This featured the private suites of Hearst and his mistress ("companion" was the way our guide delicately put it)  Marion Davies, as well as a few of the many guest bedrooms.  The castle is an incredible mish-mash:  lots of ceilings, wall panels, and floors lifted intact from many different European castles, palaces, and manor houses along with paintings, statues, and other art objects. It's really impossible to describe in words -- you really have to see it.  But we can say a few words about Citizen Hearst.

William Randolph Hearst was the Rupert Murdoch of his day.  In place of Fox News, or should I say Faux News, he owned the San Francisco Examiner, the New York Journal-American, the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, and a slew of other newspapers around the country, not to mention various national magazines and other media outlets of the period.  "The Chief", as he was affectionately called by his employees, was best known for virtually single-handedly starting the Spanish American War.  This was accomplished through the invention of "Yellow Journalism", a technique that had nothing to do with journalism and everything to do with selling newspapers.   Hearst discovered that sensational stories are the key to increased circulation.  It really doesn't matter if the story is true, although having some "truthiness", as Colbert would say, probably doesn't hurt.  But the main point is the subject matter.  My news anchor friend John once told me, "Focus on nuts, guts, and sluts, and you can't go wrong. "

Of course, Hearst also put a heavy political slant on his news stories, just like Fox does today.  They've basically become little more than a propaganda outlet for the Republican party.  But they have lots of viewers, who apparently lap up all the rubbish they dish out.  Not only that, those viewers and millions of other 99%ers then march off to the polls and vote for candidates who want to give even more money to the 1% in the form of additional juicy tax cuts, and who want to pay for it by cutting or eliminating the government services and programs that benefit those very same voters.  If nothing else, this is a complete indictment of the U.S. educational system.  But it's much more than that.   Let's face it, the far right in America has executed an amazing political tour-de-force over the last half-century.  In 1964, the GOP ran Barry Goldwater, a  far-right extremist candidate, for president.  He was defeated by the biggest landslide in over a century,  losing the popular vote by a margin of more than 3 to 2.  Today he would be considered a moderate.

Lala Land

I consider Scientology to be exhibit #1 on the power of PTB ( "Propensity to Believe" -- see May 13 post: "It's a long way to Tucumcari").  L. Ron was no dummy, and like so many before him, realized that PTB can be harnessed to provide the three essentials:  Money, Sex, and Power.  Of course his spiritual father was Joseph Smith, but that's another story.  Maybe this fall we'll stop in Salt Lake City and discuss Joseph and his followers in more detail.  In any case, if you're a science fiction author with a good imagination, why settle for chump change writing scifi novels when you can hit the big time by turning your stuff into a religion?

Close behind L. Ron we have exhibit #2:  Uri Geller.  Uri was an Israeli stage magician whose act included the usual spoon-bending and mental magic tricks, but he too realized that PTB could be employed to enhance his take.   Moving from magic, where the audience knows it's not real, to ESP where the PTB-enhanced audience thinks it is real, was a definite step up.  Now we're talking books and lots of publicity like appearances on Merv Griffin and Johnny Carson (which was a big mistake actually, because Johnny was a good amateur magician and knew how it was done).  But unfortunately for Uri, there is a long line of magicians who don't approve of this particular perversion of the profession including Harry Houdini himself, who spent a lot of time and effort debunking "spiritual mediums", the ESPers of their day.  In this respect, religion has it all over ESP, because there's no organized professional opposition.

At this point, the commercial break closes with a pitch for CSICOP, one of my favorite organizations.

And now, back to our trip.  We spent Memorial Day weekend parked in Laura and Ian's driveway in Atwater Village, which is one of those LA neighborhoods that was developed in the 1920s and 30s.  Very residential, with lots of small spanish-style bungalows.   The neighborhood apparently went downhill at some point, but it's clear that gentrification is now well underway.  For example,  nearby Glendale boulevard offers an interesting socio-economic contrast:  storefronts with signs like "checks cashed" equipped with those ugly metal grilles that slide across the entire front of the store at night right next door to espresso houses with names like "Proof" selling exotic croissants and vegan muffins.

Friday night Laura and Ian took us to see Gustavo Dudamel and the Los Angeles Philharmonic at Walt Disney Concert Hall.  Yes, I know the word "Disney" evokes tacky commercialism, but it's not like that at all --  really quite a fabulous venue.  Dudamel is the Venezuelan boy wonder who has had a rather meteoric career in the world of classical music.  He is a product of "El Sistema" -- a remarkable program of music education for children and teenagers in Venezuela.

We had seen Dudamel and the LAPhil at the Hollywood Bowl last summer, also with Laura and Ian, playing an all-Mozart program under the stars.  The Hollywood Bowl is a uniquely Los Angeles experience.  Our seats came equipped with a folding picnic table, for example, which we used for the dinner we had brought with us.  But the best part was the Jumbotrons.  If you've never been to a big time football game or rock concert, these are giant video screens which show the performers "up close and personal" in real time.   In this instance, the violin soloist was Gil Shaham, who was of course fabulous, but the amazing part was when the Jumbotron zoomed in on the fingerboard of the violin and you could watch his left hand as he played.  This is something you can't normally see, even if you're seated in the first row.

Our other cultural outing was a visit to LACMA (Los Angeles County Museum of Art, if you don't speak Lala) to see the mid-century modern design exhibit, where you could see what a classy 1950s home interior looked like.  But for me it was a deja-vu type of experience, since I remember quite well what they actually looked like.  So I'm looking at those strange women's dresses from the 50's and then I think "Oh wait, my mother used to wear something just like that."  Click.  Suddenly "strange" turns to "normal".   And I think we had some interior furnishings in our house that looked exactly like the ones on display.  Very odd.

We arrived at LACMA well before it opened, so we had something to eat at the ubiquitous lunch trucks across the street, and then wandered into the Petersen Automotive Museum which was just down the block.  As was evident from the Johnny Rocket burger shop just off the lobby, this museum caters to a somewhat different cultural milieu.  No wine and cheese available here.  But there were a few totally restored great sedans from the 20s and 30s, some muscle cars, sports cars, motorcycles, and scooters, as well as a few old electrics.  Concours d'Elegance it's not, but if you're a car buff like me, this place is well worth a visit.