24 November 03
The Hazard of Being Other
There’s a partially albino American crow around. Its coloring is very odd and quite beautiful: the tips of its wings are pure white, then darken to buff, then brown, and only its head is a pure black. When I saw it out on the field over the weekend I thought it might be some kind of goose, and rushed for the binoculars.
The other crows go after it murderously. They chase it, dive-bomb it, never let it rest. I’m amazed it’s still alive. Why is the odd one such a threat to the others? Why is its mere presence enough to set them off?
I have no idea why the sight of this persecution makes me so sad. It reminds me, perhaps, that cruelty and intolerance are innate. That no matter what we know, an ugly streak can take over and render us merciless; that it takes very little to set this off: the voice of a demagogue, perhaps, or the fear of the unknown. Mostly, I fear the metaphor of this conflict will be-and is now being-used by the powerful to justify their injustices.
I hope this strange crow somehow manages to pull through. The odds of that do not seem high.
23 November 03
Sangreal
I just galloped through Dan Brown’s novel The Da Vinci Code, a nonstop-paced thriller that starts with a contemporary murder in the Louvre that quickly leads into the mysteries of the Holy Grail. Brown has taken an actual set of conspiracy theories and has repackaged these in terms of a best-selling thriller. Whatever be the truthfulness of these tales of long-standing secret societies, the heterodoxies they attest to are enthralling, and make for a compelling read.
22 November 03
Russell Crowe as Jack Aubrey
Disclaimer: I’ve read all the Patrick O’Brian Aubrey/Maturin novels at least three times (well, okay, five). The series comprises twenty books. Rachel Jacoff, a Dante scholar at Wellesley, first put me on to them—she thought I’d like them because Stephen (the ship’s surgeon) is a birder. (And lots else, of course.)
My fear about this film when I heard it was being made revolved primarily around the choice of lead roles. Russell Crowe? How could he possibly carry off the role of a British naval captain in the Napoleonic wars, one whose punning is wretched but whose voice can be heard over two miles away, who understands the zeitgest of the lower deck where he was once assigned for stealing tripe (or stowing a girl), and whose most profound weakness is for that timeless English delicacy, the suet pudding?
I’m surprised, almost, to report that he gets it almost perfect. That Peter Weir absolutely understands the interaction between Jack and Stephen (Paul Bettany is an unlikely exquisite choice for this role). That despite the truncated plot, taken from at least five of the novels, it doesn’t matter: it’s all about character anyway. Jane Austen at sea is how someone once described it. There’s very little here in the way of Jane Austen; what the books don’t give you is the noise. I hope they don’t make any more in the series—I fail to see how this could be bettered. As a period piece it has no rivals, in my opinion.
The release coincides nicely for Oscar time and there are sure to be a few nods; I think it will win outright for editing.
21 November 03
Charting The Rocks
Last week’s trip to Bodega Bay afforded me the chance to start doing some geologizing, namely looking at geologic maps for the route from Davis to Bodega Bay. I didn’t have a chance to seek out paper maps (a good index to California geologic maps being here), but did find a couple digital maps, portions of which I printed out. So I am now much more keenly aware of the Sonoma Volcanics (exposed in bits off of Highway 12 on the way to Napa), and the geologic formations on the road from Petaluma to Bodega Bay (which falls on a very recently produced digital map). The break indicated on the map between the late Tertiary Wilson Grove formation (the hills surrounding Valley Ford) and the graywacke of the Franciscan complex to the west just before entering Bodega Bay was quite enlightening to notice on the ground. Keeping track of geologic formations is a whole new way to travel! So off I go to find more maps.
20 November 03
A Trip to the Zoo
With family visiting from far away, where the snow has already fallen this year, an outing in the sunshine involving elephants and tigers seemed in order (well, to the three-year-old among us, at least). We met up in Berkeley yesterday and went to the Oakland Zoo, which is exactly the right scale for small feet. Highlights included a ride on the train and a ride on the ostrich on the carousel. It was sunny and there was no wind, a splendid day topped off by a splendid dinner at a new Indian restaurant on Solano Avenue in Berkeley, Khana Peena. I returned to Davis on the train in the dark while the others drove back to Bodega Bay.
Zoos seem to be best visited around small children who seem to find the most interesting things first. It’s like learning to see again. I’ve never spent much time around a 5-month old giraffe, but they have beautiful markings.
19 November 03
SUV Taphonomy
Yesterday Pica’s family nearly witnessed the fossilization of an SUV. Pica’s sister and family have been visiting Pica’s mother in Bodega Bay, and yesterday they went on an outing to Goat Rock at the mouth of the Russian River to look for sea glass. On the beach there was a film crew making an ad for the latest model of the Lincoln Navigator. But that metal carnosaur of a vehicle had gotten stuck in the sand! There was a huge hullabaloo under way to free the trapped SUV, so alas its fate wasn’t to end up being buried by sediment from the next Russian River flood (a pretty much annual winter event). For some reason I don’t think the final released version of the ad will feature the rescue operation.
18 November 03
State Visit
Why Tony Blair isn’t fearing for his life, I have no idea. Why Queen Elizabeth is according more pomp and circumstance to this American “President” than any during her reign, I have no idea. Why these people combined don’t understand that the scene in “Love, Actually” where the newly-installed Prime Minister delivers a witty, biting dig at the fatuous, vain, self-involved American President isn’t, actually, the projected fantasy of Great Britain, I’m none the wiser.
Coup de Vent will be demonstrating against this nonsense. Good for her. If I were there, I’d join her in the streets.
This is so much like a bad novel I want to go and get back to my good one, The DaVinci Code. But the plot is no less sinister.
17 November 03
UC Davis Scientists Learn How To Hit Home Runs
Engineers at UC Davis have just learned how to hit the long ball. In a study just published in the American Journal of Physics, these scientists developed “improved models for the pitch, batting, and post-impact flight phases of a baseball [for use in] an optimal control context to find bat swing parameters that produce maximum range.” There is lots of scary math and physics in this paper, but their most surprising conclusion is that an optimally hit curve ball will travel farther than a fastball, due to the initial topspin from the pitch. And hitting coaches can now tell their clientele that the optimal way to hit a fastball is to undercut it by 2.65 cm and swing upwards at an angle of 0.1594 radians. I’m sure that will help.
16 November 03
Visitors and Eggheads
This entry is another collaborative post on the Ecotone Wiki: “How Visitors Affect Your View of Place.” See other posts on this topic here.
Coming back from a trip to the coast this evening to see family we were discussing how visiting a foreign country is a great way to learn to see afresh, since everything is so different. It makes you look at where you live in a different way.
Davis, California is not a tourist destination. There are no Roman ruins, there is no spa, no beach; the the most ancient buildings are just over 100 years old; there isn’t even any wine made here other than for the purposes of study. But there is a large, world-class university, and in fact it is this that accounts for the trips made by most visitors, either directly or indirectly. (The recent runaway success of the University Retirement Community, providing different levels of care for seniors, is almost certainly attributable to its proximity to the campus. These people didn’t move here for the climate.)
Pica’s window at work looks out onto one of the egghead sculptures by Robert Arneson. It is actually the most photographed one in the series; entitled “Eye on Mrak: Fatal Laff,” it is a Janus-faced piece where the second face, pictured at left, is upside-down and laughing. At least three different people pose next to this head every day; sometimes the number is far higher. (Mrak Hall is the main administration building on campus.)
The egghead is not a sight we bother to show our visitors. Rather, we make sure our visitors see the significant landmarks in our daily round: the Davis Food Co-op, the Davis Farmers Market if they’re here on the right day of the week, and of course the cows right next to the main road loop through campus. Architecturally inclined visitors get to see the 1970s era ecotopian Village Homes, the contemporary McMansion wasteland known as Mace Ranch, and the monolithic edifice the Mondavi Center. Those who stay a little longer with some interest in birds get to see the California Raptor Center.
If Numenius were a visitor, not a resident, there is one place not mentioned above that he’d be sure to head to—Shields Library. If the university is at the heart of this town, the main campus library is surely the heart of any university. How better to get a sense of what the town has to offer?
14 November 03
Where I’m From
Both Fred and DocRock have inspired me to try a “Where I’m from” exercise… Others have responded to Fred’s initial call. It was a lot of fun.
I come from the fog, from the fog round the bridge. I could see from the sink that the bridge peeped out, orange.
From the place where the dog caught the snake, a bright garter.
From the lounge of a ship, singing into a mike.
From grandma’s sickbed that we reached in a bus, where a Lancashire gray steady rain plinked on down.
From the car driving south, French appendicitis.
From my polio calligraphy-scratch in Madrid by the doctor. He spoke in a language we couldn’t make out.
From my first day at Numont, alone and afraid. From the tree in the garden, on my branch, hidden well.
Up the street in bare feet, a cement-diamoned sidewalk. For popsicles we learned to call “polos”; for comics.
From the market that smelled, called “The Smelly Market.” Where Mum went to buy “escabeche” and lemons: we sat in the Valiant, our noses assailed.
From paintings on white paper bordered in black. Entitled “Dibujo,” there was lots of white space.
From Jennifer’s pool, holding swirled Pepsi bottles. Grownups smoked and drank beer and drank gin and drank scotch.
From the playhouse we made, from our dreams of true love; from the secrets we shared, like the hamsters that mated.
From the cartoons in Spanish. A kindly bus driver. Past the guards wearing three-cornered hats, bearing guns.
From the restaurants we ate at, where I ordered, in charge. Where we kids had our food on our table, apart. Where the children around us were well-dressed, cologned; where we ran—tolerated—rambunctiously foreign.
From the black market goodies, American food. St. George’s on Sunday, and chocolate cake.
From the red bike Dad brought on his trip back from London.
From our first trip alone on the metro downtown. I don’t think we told them we’d gone. Well, we did.