Goodbye Pete Carroll

The Seahawks are pitiful. It's time for Pete Carroll to take his Charlie Whitehurst and Tavaris Jackson and head back to the college ranks where he might still be able to cheat his way to victories. Whatever he's trying to do in the pros just doesn't cut it. How could anyone ever have expected anything good to come from this cast of losers? With no quarterback in the NFL, it's probably best to just stay home and watch the real teams play on Sunday.

Unsustainable Growth

There's something odd about growth.

Certainly there are limits to growth of all kinds. Take trees, for example. Imagine what the world would be like if all trees always continued to grow. Or people. Or frogs. Beanstalks! There's a limit to all growth, not necessarily pre-determined or even consistent in reality but a limit, nonetheless.

What seems to happen naturally is growth to an extent, followed by some form of maturity or refinement, followed by obsolescence or death of some kind. Growth is a small part of the overall existence of a thing. Without some refinement at or near the peak of development, things just fall down or implode. They don't ever reach a healthy, mature stature.

I think the same growth limitations apply to societies or economies. Take the United States for example. Our economy can only grow so far without proper nurturing and refinement. At some point, there's no more room for economic growth and it's time for introspection, refinement and true progress. It's time to wonder, "What now?" Indeed, what now? Our economic growth is based on a very shaky foundation. The corporate idea, backed by our government and bought into by the senseless masses, is to keep building new things for us to buy. Most new technology seems to be geared toward that end What new gadget can be built that the people will spend their money on? In fact, all the new gadgets, machines, hi-tech gizmos, vehicles...everything...is built with a short life expectancy. We buy a thing, use it for a while, and then, when it begins to deteriorate in short order, we buy a newer better thing to replace it. The broken one? It goes to a landfill. (Oh! Landfills happen to be among those things having limited growth potential. Just imagine a world with only landfills!)

Knowing there is such a limit to the growth of our economy and society, one should question how close we are to that limit. One should wonder if we have already reached the limit of economic growth. Even now, the world is hard pressed to sustain the current population, yet that population still increases while countless millions live in unspeakable destitution. (Of course, there is a small, yet divine, minority who live in constant luxury. Those are the same people who benefit the most from continued manufacturing of…things.)

Assuming we are at or near our limit now, some form of progress or refinement must be pursued in order to remain standing. Indeed, to remain at all!

It is now time to rethink our entire system. The uncontrolled, wasteful growth we’ve undergone has run its course. It’s time for that serious introspection. It’s time to build a washing machine that will last longer than a couple of years before it makes its way to the landfill. It’s time for vehicles to be built with longevity in mind rather than presenting a ritzy, new design each year that we JUST MUST HAVE. It’s time to examine the quality of life of everyone…not just those elite few at the top of the food chain. In fact, they’re really not at the top of anything. They just have more money and more toys. Every one of them will pass away the same as the rest of us when their time comes. Nothing lasts forever.

Economic, corporate, manufacturing, political, population, waste disposal, clean water, sufficient food, energy usage, atomic power generation, oil, minerals…these are all areas which have probably reached their limits of growth in our society. It really is time to rethink everything we’re doing and put a lasting, sustainable lifestyle ahead of narrow-minded, short-sighted greed. We’re all here now and together. It would be nice to leave this place better than we found it, eh?

The people have to speak. It takes the masses to stand up to manipulative advertising and political nonsense. Don’t buy the new car, the television or the latest cellular technology. Instead, demand improvements in manufacturing, health care, environmental protection and sustained, refined progress. Our time for growth is passed and if we don’t alter our course soon, the downward plunge may take us all into a very dark place for a very long time.

Killer Ladybugs

It's an unusually sunny day in Fall City, maybe over 60 degrees. That's nice except for the ladybugs. On the sunny side of the house, there are thousands of them. When I go outside and venture into the sunlit area, I'm set upon by them. They go in my ears, down my shirt, in my hair, around my glasses...they're everywhere!

When I was building a shed-barn in the field several years ago, there was a similar onslaught of the little darlin's. There is a difference now, though. When building the shed-barn, I was bitten repeatedly by yellowish ladybugs. They pack a mean sting. This time, the ladybugs are all reddish in color and I haven't been stung yet. So, I have that going for me.

Also, several years ago, I happened to notice a large, dark ball of something in an upper corner of the kitchen. It turned out to be a mass of ladybugs about the size of a tennis ball...which I dispatched via my vacuum cleaner.

Getting back to today...these cuties have no problem getting into the house. They flatten themselves down as thin as a single sheet of 80# text paper and slide around the windows and doors. They just keep coming, oozing through the cracks, slithering under the doors faster than I can vacuum them up in here. Fifteen minutes ago, I vacuumed and now I count about fifty more in this room already. I was planning to mow the lawn before the rains settle in for the next six months but I don't think it's worth the ladybug aggravation...especially if these turn out to be of the biting kind. I can imagine myself flailing and swatting to no avail, falling to the grass, writhing in pain with millions of little bites as an agonizing certain death looms. Ladybugs are the piranhas of the insect world!

It's just horrifying to me to think that some people actually go out of their way to populate their lawns and gardens with these little bastards. They send away for them because ladybugs eat aphids...or something like that. They PAY for them! That's nonsense! It's like hiring a hit-man to off yourself.

I'll wait until sunset, then tend to those in the house. I don't know where they all go when it's cold and dark outside but it would sure be nice to get started on an early, depressing, dank, miserable winter...soon.

Additional note: After vacuuming as many ladybugs as I could find, I went to sleep. No sooner had I closed my eyes when a ladybug landed right on my eyelid. I swatted it away, only to have another graze my forehead. On with the lights! There were nearly fifty of the bastards in my bedroom. After vacuuming again, I went back to sleep with my head under the sheets. In the morning there were fewer than twenty-five in the room.

Carmen...Seattle Opera...My review (finally!)

I haven't been to this opera yet. That will be this Wednesday...but I'm hoping for the best. Stay tuned.

So…I did go to see Seattle Opera’s Carmen last night and, in general, it was good.

As usual, the chorus (including the youth chorus) was great and the overall presentation was great and all the dancing was wonderful.

Carmen was okay…a mezzo who had plenty of sound and energy, and carried herself well on stage. She was not the most graceful person for the part and her movements were a bit choppy and mechanical at times but I really have no serious complaints about her Carmen portrayal. (I do prefer the soprano, Cecilia Angell as Carmen.)

Don Jose, early on, seemed a bit weak in the voice but strengthened later on. There was one odd thing about his singing, however…when I was learning how to sing French arias, I was told that they should be sung with an Italian type of pronunciation. (Apparently, this originated as a result of Italian tenors singing the French with a certain arrogance that their way was the only correct way.) Specifically, the letter ‘R’ should be pronounced with a rolling ‘R’ rather than the pharyngeal (?) French norm, from the back of the throat. This Don Jose sang with the pharyngeal ‘R’ pronunciation…sometimes. Other times, he rolled his R’s. First, it was a distraction (and almost an offense) to hear the ‘R’s” coming from the back of his throat instead being rolled. Second, it was an even greater distraction to hear them pronounced differently from time to time. Another distraction of his was the unusual pronunciation of most vowels. They seemed to be neither French nor Italian and most were totally different than I was taught. (I should mention that, although I learned to sing a lot of the Don Jose role, I am more of a shower singer than a real performer!) All that said, although this Don Jose was not the most powerful tenor I’ve ever heard, he certainly was better than most tenors I’ve heard at Seattle Opera. I just didn’t like the pronunciations of so many things that it was a distraction and detraction from my personal enjoyment. It occurs to me that this Don Jose’s native language is probably Spanish and I noticed that many of his vowel pronunciations were to similar to Placido Domingo ‘s. Okay, one more minor complaint about Don Jose…he over-acted at times…especially in the ‘flower song’.

Escamillo was fair. His voice was the weakest of all, especially in the lower register, and it surprised me that he was even cast for the role. Craig Nim would have been a far better choice and would have probably acted the role as well or better.

Zuniga was adequate with a strong enough voice.

Micaela…was as wonderful.

Frasquita and Mercedes were perfect.

Occupy Fall City

I wonder about the "Occupy" phenomenon. If everyone in my town of Fall City were to gather along the river and peacefully demand changes in the economy and in government...what good would come of it? Certainly, everyone living around these parts must be included in the 99% but what of it? With the current state of affairs, the result of a sit-in in Fall City would likely be the same as a sit-in in Times Square, the rest of the world or even in my own bathroom. ..nothing would happen.

People all around the country are experiencing personal, financial meltdown. There are few jobs to go around, health care is non-existent, foreclosures are rampant, savings are eroding and the future looks bleak. However, just gathering together and carrying signs for a disinterested media to notice seems pointless...unless...

...unless a very large proportion of the 99% joins in. Unless those masses escalate their efforts. I think it would require millions of participants rather than hundreds or thousands. I think it would require marches down affluent neighborhoods and boycotts of all imported materials and services. Everyone would have to be involved and very, VERY boisterous. It would require voting out all incumbent politicians with a groundswell of demand for term limits and corporate and political accountability. There are so many things in need of overhaul that it appears impossible to affect meaningful change. The wealthy, our supposed governmental representatives and corporations should be held to the fire. All tax loopholes must be sealed and an equitable tax system (probably a flat tax) must replace the IRS. There seems to be enough money in the system for the country to get out of debt but those in power haven't done anything because their interest lies within their own wallets…not ours.

Until there are throngs of American citizens marching in front of the homes of every corporate thief and corrupt politician…until those throngs are shouting out the injustices of American life…until those throngs are carrying pitchforks and burning effigies…until there is real, substantial near-violence displayed by the masses…there will be no change. No real change. Oh, there may be subtle compromises made. There may be hints of change splattered all over the airwaves. But there will be no real improvement in Fall City, on Wall Street, in Washington or anywhere else. “Occupy” is not enough. Maybe “Assert” or maybe “Take Over” but not just “Occupy”.

As a minor aside, I must say...it makes no sense to me that anyone who is not independently wealthy could be so blind as to support even the tiniest fraction of the Republican, conservative agenda. To support such folly is to cast oneself into the fires of Hell.

Anyway, that’s how it looks from where I sit in this little town.

Don't go to Seattle

A friend told me last week that it took an hour to get from Queen Anne to I-5 and that was BEFORE the first planned shutdown of the 99 viaduct which begins this week. Travel in and around Seattle is already a nightmare but it only gets worse with the 99 issue and rolling shutdowns of the 520 floating bridge and near-future tolling implemented on the bridge. In addition, for those who still care to brave the traffic, parking is extremely expensive and mostly, unavailable. For those who think about using public transportation...good luck. It stinks. Rather than do the right thing and make much-needed repairs to the viaduct to prevent catastrophic results from an inevitable earthquake, it was decided to build a tunnel which will cost billions and disrupt traffic for years. In addition, the tunnel will be subject to even worse destruction from said earthquake. It all makes no sense. Seattle is heading for gridlock for many years to come. Imagine trying to do business in Seattle. Prospective shoppers are discouraged from going downtown and parking costs are out of sight. Imagine being a salesperson, attempting to make a few meaningful calls during the workweek. Seattle is off-limits. Imagine going to dinner in Seattle and paying through the nose for parking (if there is any available, then paying a fortune for the dinner. Stay away. Seattle is people-unfriendly.

Hurricanes Irene, Donna and Alma in Denville, New Jersey

With all the news about Hurricane Irene working its way toward the US mainland and the entire coastline bracing for possible disaster, I’m reminded of a couple of hurricane experiences of my own:

THE FIRST WAS HURRICANE DONNA IN SEPTEMBER OF 1960.

I was attending school at the Main Street School in Denville, New Jersey and the hurricane was making itself known in town with heavy rains and gale-force winds. Apparently the school officials felt there was a real danger to the building, students and faculty and the weather was continuing to worsen as the day wore on. They closed school early and sent us all on our way to get home to safety before all the roads became impassable.

I didn’t live the required two miles from the school to qualify to ride the bus (our house on Morris Avenue was 1.9 miles away), so I walked. From the Main Street school, I walked through town, along Route 46 and out Franklin Road (or was it Savage rd? I don't remember much these days!) to the Little League field by the river (Gardner Field?). It was not a pleasant or easy walk, what with the wind and rain.

Anyway, when I came to the bridge that crosses the Rockaway River just past the baseball field, I couldn’t help but notice the river had risen to within a few feet of the bottom of the bridge. In the summer, we all jumped from the railing to the river beneath but it was probably a good ten or fifteen-foot drop to the water then. A very few, very daring kids climbed to the top of the bridge for the jump. I wasn’t one of those. I was afraid. This time, however, I realized, with the water level so high, it was ten or fifteen feet from the very top of the bridge to the water!

I walked out onto the bridge, which had that metal-grated surface that hummed when driving across, took off my socks and shoes and placed them neatly with my books along the railing. I could see the brown water through the grating below my feet. Then I climbed to the top of the structure, stood there for a brief moment and leaped out over the railing and into the storm.

As soon as my feet hit the water, they were swept out from under me as though I had just landed on the top of a speeding truck. I was thrown on my back, then pulled straight down in the churning, angry, muddy water. I fought with all my strength to get back to the surface, then with all my might to get to the bank. The problem was, the bank was a lot farther away than usual and the water was moving so fast! The river was wide! Very wide and racing full-speed with me in its clutches. I kept swimming in the direction of shore until I finally managed to reach the bank and crawl out of the mess. I must have gone under, over or around the bridge at Diamond Spring Road (although I don’t remember how) but when I did crawl out of the water, I was on the other end of town. I think it was the parking lot for a place called Norell’s (?), along Route 46 and across the river from the hospital and the old St Francis hogs where I found myself.

I had to walk barefoot through the flooded streets of Denville, wade the length of Riverside Drive, then swim and wade across the fields just below the main Little League field to get back to the bridge. The water had risen since I first jumped but it wasn’t above the bridge surface…yet. I picked up my shoes and books and walked the rest of the way through the trail to Morris Avenue and home.

THE SECOND WAS HURRICANE ALMA IN1966.

I was working on the Felicia, a scallop boat that made its home at the Fulton Fish Market, in New York City. The captain and crew were all Norwegians and considerably older than I was at the time. The captain spoke English well but the others, only barely.

Oddly, the first time I ever worked on that boat was the first time I had ever been on any kind of boat at all that was longer than a car. This one was 95 feet! When I first set foot on the old wooden hulk, I was aware that I was the only one sober enough to walk a straight line. The crew promptly passed out in a unified, drunken stupor while the captain gave ME instructions to get us out of the harbor, under the Verrazano Bridge and into the Atlantic. He said to wake him when I go under the bridge. Then he passed out, himself. I had no clue. I was still sixteen (or seventeen) years old! Fortunately, it was daytime and I could actually SEE the Verrazano Bridge. Other than that bit of good luck, I was at a near total loss. I knew nothing of proper navigation…which buoys meant what, what to avoid, what maritime laws were. Eventually, I woke Captain Finn as we slid under the bridge and he took over the helm from there.

Anyway, about the hurricane…we had worked our way about seventy-five miles off the coast and (maybe) as far south as Virginia when Captain Finn realized there was a hurricane heading toward us. It was time to head back. In fact, it was already past time to head back. The weather was getting worse by the minute as the afternoon wore on. The crew had already stowed all the gear and gone below as evening neared. The wind, rain and seas were all rising. Frothy ocean water sloshed back and forth across the deck and blended with the torrential rain. Wind and water came from all directions as Captain Finn maintained course, heading north. We were losing the race with the leading edge of Hurricane Alma.

It only got worse as darkness fell upon us. Yes, the weather was worse but there was more to it. Captain Finn brought me up to the wheelhouse, showed me what compass heading we were attempting to maintain…and went to sleep in his bunk. He went to sleep and left me there in the wheelhouse by myself. Everyone else was asleep. It was pitch dark. The wind howled, the rain came from everywhere and the seas swept over the deck as though we weren’t even there.

The Felicia had one of those old-fashioned steering wheels…huge, with gnarled wooden handles all around. It takes a physical effort to spin the thing all around a few times to just make a turn of a few degrees. The compass was about two feet in diameter and was mounted on the floor next to the wheel where I stood, unprepared. There was no point looking outside the wheelhouse. Everything was as black as death out there. The waves buffeted the boat, smashing against the elevated, wheelhouse windows, the door rattling open and closed, water rushing in and out of where I hung on to the steering wheel while staring at the compass. Each time the boat was pounded from one side, the compass indicated we had been turned as much as 90 degrees. I frantically spun the wheel to get back to the correct heading on the compass, only to be hit again and turned in a different direction. Side to side we all traveled that night with the relentless roar of the hurricane bearing down on us. I turned that steering wheel twenty times one way, then twenty the other, then ten back and twenty again. Spinning the wheel, soaked with rain, seawater and sweat, I fought all night long, alone in the wheelhouse, as Hurricane Alma didn’t care if the Felicia ever made port again.

As daylight approached, Captain Finn reappeared and assumed the helm. I was totally spent. We had made some progress through the night, putting some distance from the hurricane…somehow! Also, Alma seems to have headed a bit eastward rather than smashing directly into New York City. (It had also lost a lot of its strength by then.) We eased under the bridge to safety in the late afternoon.