Cowbook

A Quinnipiac University professor of journalism asked his class a question, like you do when you happen to be a teacher, and when one Michael Kataja answered correctly, he was rewarded with a book of travels.  Specifically, Tim Brookes' Hell of a Place to Lose a Cow, in which the author attempts to recreate the path he'd hitchhiked through the USA some 20 or 30 years previous.   The prize was probably awarded to Mike in 2002 or 2003.  He never actually read the book, but he did give it to me instead of throwing it away.  In the spirit of the thing, I slipped it under the back seat of my pal Kevin's car on our way to a Bad Plus concert (standard 'man, that guy is fast' and 'look! ET dolls!' comments apply).  I also left a note inside suggesting that future readers drop me a line when they leave it for someone else to read.  

Now, at the end of 2008, I'm pleased to report a kind of modern day miracle.  One of those fun little things that takes off and you read about and you tell your friends and everyone takes a moment to think of how neat that is and oh I should do something like that myself some time.  Yes, lo these many months and years, I have heard stories and tales of the book's travel.  To be more specific in fact, I have heard from:

1 person.  In 2006.

Even by that volume's standard of spending a year with an owner before moving on, that's slow.  I wonder where it is today.

Another web thing.

I had an idea, so I signed up for that Twitter the kids love.  It's greenglassdoor if you're into that sort of thing. But let's be honest, if you're one of my two known readers here, you probably already noticed that I added you over there. At least I'm not on facebook. But Dave Brand will be! Just 32 more days!

Burgled again! The Criminality Continues!

In what I presume may have been somehow related to the car break-in(s), someone emptied out my bank account at an ATM in Las Vegas yesterday. I was here, in Los Angeles, with my ATM card. Good going, someone. I am left to wonder, however, if security was ever compromised at the bank, or if I happened to have been unwittingly embroiled in some more clever scheme, since my own PI number was apparently used, and that's not the sort of thing a rational person keeps written down. Smart of them to do it yesterday though. Less likely to be noticed when everyone else was moving money around in uncharacteristically big ways. Bunch of savages in this town, I swear.

Another Spooky Thanksgiving!

First of all, De-Gifting.com is up and running. It's the answer to giving boring gifts to snoozy relatives you don't know or like. It's a non-gift, but not careless. Thoughtful, considered, Nothing. Second, I got invited to a Thanksgiving thing, and since I find I am so rarely invited anywhere, I do make an effort to show up when it happens. I made them an old-fashioned thanksgiving feast just like Snoopy used to do:

For the uninitiated, what you've got there is your buttered toast, your popcorn, your pretzels, and your jelly beans. It should have been pretzel sticks, I know, but the store was out. I'm sure this is a popular Thanksgiving treat.

Cooking here, serving here!

emotion, Human

I spat this out in a rush of words tonight at someone who wasn't interested: About a week ago, I looked out my window - just off to my right, peripherally within view even now - and formed the only recent memory I have of feeling startled, shocked, afraid. There was, at altogether too low an altitude, a zeppelin. It appeared at approximately news helicopter height or lower, bearing straight toward (and ultimately over and beyond,) my apartment, and my window. Not the sort of thing that -ought- to be scary, but there you go.

This irrational fear is exciting and remarkable to me because of what a rare thing it is to feel something so vividly. The default position for someone about where I happen to be is, I think, 'couched in irony,' and it's a pretty thick layer. The only time I can remember being red-in-the-face embarrassed (my favorite request to make of professional actors) was in a Borders bookstore - the kind in Ohio in which a fellow can spend a day reading things, like a library, but not like a crowded and tiny LA bookstore or LA library, whose chief function is in the field of hobo naps. I saw a familiar clerk with an armful of periodicals collected from the various comfy chairs in the store, as he went about sighing and restocking the magazine shelves....just as I was about to make my way to the comfy chair section with a fresh armload of magazines I intended to read for free.

I tried to take still photos at dusk, and as you can see, they mainly fail at suggesting the size, speed, and proximity of the airship. As the thing flew directly overhead, I realized what I needed instead was video.

zeppliphoto