I just returned from a 48 hour round trip to southern Florida to pick up a refurbished Grumman AA-5B Tiger and ferry it back to California. I’ll say this for general aviation, it’s always an adventure. I took a few photos, which are available here.

My first thought after sitting down to memorialize the weekend: I’d forgotten how exhausting these transcontinental trips can be, especially when you’re dodging thunderstorms for 2000 continuous miles. Florida in late August — good times.

The commercial flight out to Ft. Meyers was blessedly uneventful, but between the three hour time change and our 6:45 a.m. wheels up plan for Sunday morning, I was behind the curve even before we started. Fortunately the thunderstorms were confined to the coasts at that hour and we managed to pick our way up to Tallahassee and then over to west Texas on the first day.

This Grumman is very well equipped: Garmin GNS430, Shadin fuel flow, EDM700 engine monitor, Stec 40 autopilot with altitude hold, new canopy glass and Scheme Designers paint, LoPresti cowling and HID landing light.

But all that stuff was a distant second to the capabilities of the Garmin 496 handheld Zach brought with him. The XM satellite downlink was worth it’s weight in gold on this trip. Having that thing in the cockpit is like putting a FSS briefer in the copilot seat (a real briefer, that is, not these Lockheed automatons). We knew the exact location of every cell, every lightning strike, cloud cover, and so on. Jacksonville Center was announcing a new convective sigmet every couple of minutes, and by the time he was done talking we’d have a graphical plot of it overlayed on the 496.

This was my sixth transcon trip in a GA aircraft. Most of them have been delivery and training flights, which is neat because there’s nothing quite like watching someone realize the long-held dream of obtaining their own aircraft. More that just watching, being a part of it, and helping guide them through the exciting (and often confusing) delivery process. Is the aircraft ok? Paperwork in order? How do we get home? How do I master the avionics and systems in this thing?

Zach was fun to work with because this trip represented so many firsts for him. Before we left Orange County, he had only 60 hours in his logbook and had just obtained his PPL. This trip increased his total time by 25%. It was also his longest distance flight, longest leg time-wise, highest flight altitude, first real encounter with weather, and so on. The growth and experience he gained in just one day is phenominal, and it was a pleasure to be a part of it.

Lesley and I just got back from a great trip to the central California coast.

It wasn’t a flying trip — I did a Norcal trip via plane the week before last.  But more on that later.

Those of you who know me know I don’t like driving long distances in cars.  I mean, isn’t that why God created the airplane?  But nevertheless, the trip was great fun.  Even the driving was low stress.

On Saturday the 3rd, we rumbled into Solvang, where the local time was holy cow it’s a bazillion degrees here.  You could’ve cooked an egg on the sidewalk.  In fact, maybe we did.  The heat was so intense that I might not remember it.  So we got our pastry and got the hell out of there.

The next stop was La Purissima, one of the original California missions.  Purissima is great because it was completely rebuilt by one of the New Deal companies during the Great Depression, so it’s in amazingly good shape.  On Sunday, we toured Mission San Miguel, which was closed due to earthquake damage.  We didn’t intend this to be a “mission vacation”, but it sort of turned out that way.  It might go a short way toward correcting my abysmal California history knowledge.

Anyway, in 2003, a major quake destabilized the 200+ year old San Miguel adobe structure, and it’s been uninhabitable since.  Very sad.  The cost of repairing the damage is more than $15 million, and it three years they’ve only been able to come up with about $1.5 million.  At this rate, they won’t have the cash until 2030.

It’s interesting to see how some missions are still in great shape, others are overgrown ruins.  Some are active parishes, while others don’t even have a visitor’s center to mark their presence.  As with all things, money undoubtedly plays a central role.

Speaking of which, later that day we took a garden tour of Hearst Castle.  This was the only tour I hadn’t been on, and it was well worth the wait.  Lesley thought so, too.  One of the most interesting facts the docent told us was that the entire grounds were maintained by only three full time gardeners.  They used to have a dozen, but state budget cuts have lead to some lean times.  I was amazed that three people could maintain an estate of that size.

One of the highlights of the trip was a visit to the Steinbeck Center in Salinas.  Lesley loaned me “Cannery Row”, which I read just before we hit Salinas.  We also toured the sites Steinbeck writes about on Cannery Row. We walked Fisherman’s Wharf and had dinner there.  Took a walking tour of some of the downtown area.  Drove to Cannery Row, shopped, had lunch, went to Monterey Bay Aquarium.  Drove to Carmel, visited the Mission there.

A very busy few days!  Photos are online.

I’m back from Mexico and can report that no animals were harmed in the making of this dive trip. No non-human animals, at least. Er… well, we did catch quite a few trigger fish during the surface intervals, but I don’t count those because they make for such tasty ceviche.

I’ve got quite a few pictures to post in the photo gallery, but I’ll whet your appetite with some highlights.

The new Schulz house in San Carlos is really something to behold. I’d estimate the size to be more than 3,000 square feet. Newly constructed on the side of a hill overlooking the bay, this pad is equipped with a home theatre, high speed internet access, a gourmet kitchen, and is furnished so smartly that it looks like something out of a Pottery Barn catalogue:

The house sits atop a hill about 150 feet above the water level. Here’s a photo I snapped on our last day of diving as the boat re-entered San Carlos Bay:

One of my favorite rooms was the TV room. Or, if you prefer, “home theatre”. Equipped with a big screen TV, satellite hookup, surround sound, leather sofas, and a wet bar for those times when you get hungry for a liquid snack:

Here’s one photo I took on the patio during a typical Mexican sunset. The ever-present towering cumulonimbus clouds can be seen in the background. They do get some spectacular thunderstorms down there; mother nature is in charge and she never lets you forget it. Keep in mind that this image is not retouched or edited:

It’s not all fun and games. The mosquitos came out en mass every morning and evening. Without bug spray you’d be eaten alive. Not to mention the heat and humidity, which can be far more oppressive than anything you’ll find in Arizona or Florida. But that’s the way Mexico is, and once you adopt what I call a ‘tropical mindset’, it becomes more like a relaxing sauna you can just melt into. Anyway, it’s tough to convey a real sense of what it’s like standing on that deck watching the sun set over San Carlos Bay, but this panoramic will give you a general idea (click on the image to zoom in):

For me, the real test of any Mexican residence is how well the shower drain functions. I’ve been to Mexico dozens of times. Rosarito, Cozumel, La Paz, San Carlos, Hermosillo, etc. And in every case, no matter where I’ve stayed, the shower drains clog like the lungs of a three pack a day smoker. It’s irksome because I have this thing about showers. See, I like to use them to get clean. But that can be tough to do when you’re standing in a tepid pool of filthy water. This time, however, the drains ran clear for the entire week. A Festivus miracle!

The diving was great — how could it not be when you’ve got a pimped out 38′ boat and a dozen college friends as part of the deal? I’m happy to say I’m one of the few who was in the water for every single dive, even after late evenings anchored by Cuervo 1800.

One dive sticks out as particularly memorable. Due to some unfortunate currents, four of us — all highly experienced — ended up marooned on a rock for half an hour while the boat shuttled around to pick up divers who’d been carried off by the water. Lounging on the rock wasn’t so bad, but eventually we had to jump back in and make a 50 yard surface swim through waters peppered with the dreaded Portuguese Man-of-War.

The craziest thing from the trip was actually an article from the August issue of Outside Magazine about an airline pilot named Dave Shaw. Shaw liked to dive — deep. He set a world record by reaching a depth of 927 feet in a South African freshwater cave called Bushman’s Hole. For those of you who don’t dive, recreational divers are supposed to limit themselves to about 60 feet. Even highly experienced divers rarely pass 100 feet. By the time you reach 300 feet, air is no longer breathable because under that much pressure it becomes toxic to the human body. A man-made mixture of helium, nitrogen, and oxygen must be used instead. Anyway, I won’t give away what happened to Shaw, but you can read the article here.

The coming and going from Mexico was interesting. First of all, one of our divers has been in Mexico City for the past few months and decided to travel to San Carlos the cheap way, via bus. It took Seth more than 36 hours. Read all about it.

I thought he was crazy to be traveling by bus, especially since I made the savvy decision to go by air. Yeah right. It took me 36 hours to get home! Which is especially maddening when you consider that my conveyance was travelling at 500 mph, more than 10 times the speed of Seth’s taco bus.

Here’s what happened. First of all, the America West Dash-8 was about four hours late getting to Guaymas to pick us up. There was some sort of mechanical delay in Phoenix. Then, we dodged thunderstorms all the way to Phoenix only to find the airport closed by the weather. We held for more than an hour before diverting to Tuscon, which was totally unprepared for us. We got AW to comp us some lodging, but not before Arnie let off a little steam at a supervisor. The next morning, our flight from Tuscon to Phoenix was late departing, and I barely made my connecting flight to Orange County. Most of the guys on this trip drove, and they made it home in 1/3 the time it took me via America West. The old saying is true: “Time to spare? Go by air!”

There is some talk of diving in Honduras next year. The destination was voted on and unanimously approved over dinner, but virtually everyone at the table was drunk at the time, so who knows. Wherever we end up, I’ve no doubt it’ll be an adventure.

It’s that time of year again. The annual dive trip to Mexico!

Most of the guys are driving down to San Carlos this time. Personally, I think it’s crazy to spend 16 hours driving across the featureless desert when America West offers daily (though spotty) service to nearby Guaymas. And right out of John Wayne, too! No getting up at 3 am. No fighting the congestion at LAX. No overloaded flights.

I don’t even have to lug my dive gear around. The guys were kind enough to stop by on their way out of town and schlep it down there with them, just as a precaution. None of us has forgotten how America West lost all our dive gear a couple of years ago.

Despite the hassles of air travel, I’m glad to be going this way. It figures that the only two people to insist on flying just happen to be pilots. Arnie and I are going to meet up in Phoenix and plan our Mexican mayhem on the flight down to Guaymas. Hopefully he’ll keep the max depth to less than 200 feet this time. Note to self: next time, get the DAN membership.

Anyway, I’m outta here! See ya next week…

I’ve been back from Mexico for a bit, but haven’t had the time to really post anything about the trip until now. Since a picture is worth a thousand words, you can get the gist of things by checking out the photos.

The trip started with an easy non-stop flight from LAX to La Paz. Normally I wouldn’t take note of the flight, but this was a pleasant change from last year’s fiasco in which all our dive gear was lost when we changed planes in Phoenix. America West eventually found the gear and got it to us in San Carlos, but since they only have one flight per day into Guaymas, we had to do our first day of diving with equipment we cobbled together from spare parts floating around the house and boat. We dove in two shifts, which worked well until the computers started going berserk because they thought the same diver was doing back-to-back dives without a surface interval. They locked up (by design), meaning we did most of our dives sans computers.
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Well, I’ve got the scuba gear packed, the regulator overhauled, the books picked out, and the passport in my pocket.

I’m outta here — on my way to La Paz, Mexico.

This should be a fun trip. Traditionally the group I dive with alternates between Cozumel and San Carlos since we have good connections in both places, but this year we’re branching out. La Paz might be a bit more subjet to storms since it’s so far south, but hopefully the weather will hold.

Some new sites were just added to my (admittedly paltry) links list, so you can do a little branching out yourself while I’m gone.

Ciao!

Hello again. It’s just me, your friendly neighborhood housekeeper, sweeping six weeks worth of cobwebs from the House of Rapp. Six weeks. I guess I really can walk away from the keyboard, eh?

I’m not addicted.

Really.

I suppose I should have written something when I returned from vacation. It was lovely, by the way. There are about 100 photos from the trip over here. I’d love to write more about it–maybe I’ll backdate some entries from the trip journal Lesley and I kept.
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I’m outta here. We’re leaving on a ten day road trip to Auburn, San Francisco, Napa, Monterey, and San Simeon, returning on May 9th.

I haven’t made a road trip of this length in a long time. It’ll be weird sitting in a car for eight hours on the way up to Auburn. My body’s going to be saying “Auburn? Isn’t that like two hours from L.A.??” Spoiled by flying, that’s all it is.

This is a perfect time of year to make a trip of this type. Schools are still in session and the summer travel season doesn’t start for another three or four weeks, so hopefully we’ll have nice weather without all the crowds.

Lesley and I just returned from Las Vegas. It’s such an interesting place. I’ve experienced Vegas so many different ways. I’ve been a resident there. A student there. A bachelor party attendee there. It’s been an Angel Flight destination for me as a pilot. And so on.

Vegas can be the most fun you’ll ever have. It can also be a truly unpleasant experience. For the occasional visitor, the two biggest factors that affect your enjoyment of Sin City are a) your hotel, and b) the time of week you visit.

In this case, we really did it right. We spent three days and two nights at the Bellagio. Now, the last time I was in Vegas it was for my friend Rich’s bachelor party. We stayed at the Imperial Palace, which is just about as polar opposite to the Bellagio as you can get! On a Sunday, it can take 30 minutes or more before an elevator reaches your floor at the Imperial Palace! I’m not kidding. For a bachelor party it’s fine since you’re never in the room anyway. But if you can stay at the Bellagio, do it.

Trust me.

Our room was freshly renovated. It had high definition flat screen TV, high speed internet access, the best view on the Strip, and the finest amenities. When you picked up the phone, an operator answered “How may I help you, Mr. Rapp?” When we heard some construction noise on our floor, the Bellagio responded by insisting we eat at one of the hotel’s restaurants–on them. Everyone was pleasant and friendly, right down to the valet who parked our car. And when it comes to the aforementioned elevators, the Bellagio has seperate elevators for each block of floors. So you virtually never wait more than 20 seconds for an elevator, if that.

I’ve put up a bunch of photos that tell the story pretty well.

Lesley had never gambled before, so I showed her how to play video poker. She won–as did I at the blackjack table. On Monday we both spent several hours at the Bellagio Spa. And that evening we had drinks at the Baccarat Bar. We ate far too much gelato, had coffee on the edge of the canal at the Venitian, and watched the fountains do their thing.

Every time we stay at the Bellagio I discover some new bit of service they provide. This time I realized the housekeeping stops by the room more than once a day! They do the mid-day stuff you’ll find any any hotel, but they return later to turn down the beds, tidy up, and leave mints on the pillows.

I mentioned “time of the week” as a factor in how enjoyable your Las Vegas visit will be. We arrived on a Sunday and left mid-week, so traffic on I-15 was minimal and the table limits in the casinos were low. The room prices were, too.

If you get on the mailing lists for the top hotels like the Bellagio, Venitian, Paris, etc. you’ll find they have respectable deals from time to time. That’s about the only way we were able to afford an extended stay at the Bellagio. Maybe it’s just because I’m getting older or something, but I’d prefer to spend one day there than a week at a lesser hotel. Despite the high cost, I always come away feeling that it was well worth the price. And I always look forward to returning.

The rumor on the street in Vegas is that the new Steve Wynn hotel is going to outshine even the Bellagio. I find that hard to imagine, but we’ll see. If nothing else, the competition will be healthy. Since Wynn sold the Bellagio and other Mirage Resorts properties to MGM, I’ve been waiting for the high quality of service at the Bellagio to decline. So far, I’m happy to report that it hasn’t happened.

That TNT flick (”Pirates of Silicon Valley”) was pretty good! Although I wouldn’t have tried so hard to clear my schedule if I had known they were going to re-play it again. Immediately afterward, no less. And again after that. What kind of station plays the exact same movie three times in a row? Not even the premium channels like HBO or Cinemax do that. Or perhaps I’ve just been living in a cave. Like I said yesterday, I don’t watch too much television.

Today was nuts. I kept getting calls from one client after the other wanting something done before I leave for Europe, which means I have all of 24 hours to get it finished. And I still haven’t packed. Just how do you pack for a three week backpacking vacation across Europe anyway? I did manage to get the first reservation made, and the Brit I spoke with put me in such a great mood–so damn cheery! I’m flying into London and then taking the train to Bath for two nights. It’s supposed to be one of the most relaxing places in the U.K.

The itinerary is planned out, yet still flexible enough to alter in midstream if so desired. The only thing that’s not terribly flexible is the date I move from England to France, because the Chunnel tickets had to be purchased in advance. Generally, the plan looks like this:

Jun 23 - Fly out of Los Angeles
Jun 24 - Arrive in England
Jun 25 - Bath
Jun 26 - London
Jun 27 - London
Jun 28 - Cambridge
Jun 29 - Take the Chunnel to Paris, p.m.
Jun 30 - Paris
Jul 01 - Paris
Jul 02 - Versailles, Bayeux
Jul 03 - Normandy
Jul 04 - Open
Jul 05 - Genoa
Jul 06 - Cinque Terra, Vernazza
Jul 07 - Milan
Jul 08 - Venice
Jul 09 - Florence
Jul 10 - Sienna
Jul 11 - Rome
Jul 12 - Rome
Jul 13 - Pompeii, Rome
Jul 14 - Fly home

I’m becoming addicted to the Kodak Photo CD concept. I don’t know why. It’s just a CD with some images on it, right? I just sent a several sets of negatives to a place called Working Knowledge here in Irvine that’ll scan them onto Photo CD. It can be kind of expensive, so I selected FlashPix as the format. FlashPix is great for the web, but not quite as good for printing. The highest quality Pro Photo CD or CMYK scans can cost up to $25 per frame! FlashPix is about $1.00 per frame, and the final product has a variety of image sizes.

I’ve learned a lot about digital imagery from the Kodak site and also from photo.net, which is run by a vaguely unconventional MIT professor. He gave his students back their tuition money, co-authored a book on web publishing with his dog, and lots of other wacky stuff.

It’s T-minus 3 days until departure for Europe, and there’s still a ton of stuff left to do. Some Europe related, and some work related. But it’ll all get done. It always does.

The flight to London is not something I’d normally look forward to because of how long it is and how little leg room you’re given. Commercial air travel can be miserable, can’t it? I mean, it takes a lot to make me unhappy in the air. But! I’m going over on a new Boeing 777, a plane I’ve never been on or even seen up close. I’m hoping I’ll somehow finagle my way into visiting the cockpit. That’s now prohibited on U.S. airlines because of terrorists, but we’re flying British Airways, and on long international flights they’ll sometimes allow it if you’re a pilot. I’m bringing my pilot license to show the flight attendant, hoping she’ll at least be amiable to asking the captain if he’d be let some bozo from economy class up for a visit. I’m banking on the fact that Atlantic crossings are as boring for the flight crew as they are for the passengers.

This isn’t one of those prepackaged guided tour vacations. I’m hoofing across England, France, and Italy with nothing but a backpack and a Eurorail pass. Oh, and I’m taking a hard-bound journal and an Advanced Photo System camera, so there’ll be lots to add to the House of Rapp when I get back.

So it’s come down to the wire again. Surprise, surprise: it’s four days before Christmas, and I haven’t done any shopping yet. To be fair, I don’t need to shop for many people. And thankfully, I can put off shopping for my family because I’ll be seeing them in person at the new year and can give them their gifts then. They won’t know the difference.

I’m so sly.

It’s a guy thing, isn’t it? Testosterone has some mystical property (as yet unbeknownst to modern science) which makes it impossible for the human male to enter a shopping mall of his own volition before said malls reach their maximum occupancy level. Most of my male friends are probably at the mall right now, standing in line even as I type. I think it’s a guy thing. With cars, we strive for maximum velocity. With malls, we hold out for maximum occupancy. Yes, I think that’s it. From now on, this’ll be the official House of Rapp Holiday Shopping Theorem.

One of the things I’m searching for is a CD with the music from the Bellagio commercials. You know the one. The one that looks nothing like an actual Las Vegas mega-hotel, but rather like the set from a commercial about a new Las Vegas mega-hotel. In reality it’s probably a beautiful but overly crowded place filled with pot-bellied tourists and the incessant sound of slot machines clanging away. Funny how they never show that in the advertisement.

Las Vegas has become such a funny place. Didja know I lived there? Yep, for five years. And in those five years, the city made the transition from a place of character and moderate mob influence to a sanitary Disneyland of wholesome fun for the entire family. Well, except for the seedy looking guys who hang out on the street corners and peddle flyers for strip clubs and live, private porn.

I have no idea who the artist is who sang it for the commercial, or even what opera or other piece it’s from. Somehow it irks me that even with a copy of the Da Capo Opera Manual sitting on the shelf behind me as I write this, I still don’t know–yet because it’s so popular, there’s a pimply 13 year-old kid working at Tower Records who undoubtedly does. That’s just wrong. I’m kind of embarrassed about having to ask, because I feel like I should know these things. Nonetheless, I’m sure eventually I’ll have to fall back upon the superior knowledge of a 13 year-old walking acne advertisement. That’s why being 13 is so great–you have nowhere to go but up. On the other hand, of course, there is junior high. Not exactly a fair trade.

Actually, I’d like to visit the Bellagio. I’m sure it’s an amazing feat of architecture, and the fine art gallery sounds fabulous–originals of famous American and European 19th and 20th century sculptures and oils. It’s always amazing what you can do with a few billion dollars. I just wish there was some way to avoid the crush of people. Most places in Vegas don’t even try to mask the fact that you’re treated like a lemming. Kind of like a shopping mall at Christmas.

And on that brilliant segue, I’m off to shop. If I’m not back in six hours, send for help.

The House of Rapp is proud to present the Martha Stewart BETTER HOMES AND GARDENS® recipe for the perfect guys-only weekend:

• 1 bachelor - skinny, tall, able to eat 274.98 cubic meters of food in one sitting

• 7 friends - overworked and ready to get the hell outta Dodge
• 1 large van - Ford - operated at maximum velocity at night on black ice without chains or snow tires
• 1 friendly lakeside town - elevation 6,500 feet, on California/Nevada border
• 1 ski resort (largest on the west coast)
• 1 stack - $20 bills
• 2 casinos - Caesar’s and Harrah’s brand
• 2 roulette tables - minimum wager of only $0.50 per spin
• 200 dollars - winnings
• 3 days - containing no more than 10 hours of sleep
• 1 snow storm - containing 20″ of fresh powder and 40 mph winds
• 1 shoulder - dislocated

Beginning at midnight, mix bachelor and friends in large van for nine hours on essentially no sleep. Gamble the whole next day. Mix with choice of beer and other libations. Carefully place roulette chips onto table until hitting 36-to-1 odds over and over again. Do not strain. Return to casino. Once profit reaches $200, cash out. Sleep five hours, then proceed to Heavenly Resort. Chill to approximately -10º F for six hours in 40 mph wind and driving snow at 10,000 foot summit. Remove snowboarding friend from mountain just before collapse. Add snowstorm and 20″ fresh powder. Place six friends and bachelor in boiling, highly chlorinated water. Add beer until bachelor vomits. After first friend dislocates shoulder, hide all alcohol and call 911. After two hours, remove friend from hospital. Next morning, bachelor/friends mixture should be rubbery. Replace into van and mix for nine more hours. Makes one memorable serving.

Returned to Los Angeles last night. As predicted, the trip was short but tiring. No crashes with the plane or the rental car, so as Bing Crosby once sang, “I’m counting my blessings instead of sheep.” Surprisingly, after that two and a half-hour horseback ride through the forest yesterday, I wasn’t sore at all.

I started the day by buying some wonderfully scented candles from Cindy and Dave’s flower shop in downtown Littleton. They had some of the weirdest smells! Just how big is the market for chocolate-scented candles?

After breakfast we left for Boston. They say that if you don’t like the weather in New England, just wait five minutes because it’ll change. It sure did, to heavy rain which lasted until after the plane took off.

We got into Boston three or four hours early to leave time for exploring the town. A good portion of that was blown just trying to conquer the city’s arcane and varicose layout. Eventually we landed in Cambridge, home of Harvard University. I’d always wanted to see Harvard. In high school I had the grades, recommendations and extra-curricular activities necessary to get into Harvard, but for various reasons (many of which I’m not sure I understand) I never applied. I loved the Yard, it was everything I expected it to be and more. The campus had such a heady and scholastic feel to it, especially in comparison to the ultra-modern college from which I graduated.

There are a number of majestic and beautiful churches at and surrounding the campus, a testament to Harvard’s long history as a school of divinity. My favorite building was The Memorial Church, a luminous Colonial-style chapel built in memory of the Harvard grads who died fighting for our country. The interior is predominately white, with various memorials to those who died in military service. Just inside the South Porch is the Memorial Room, which houses a Caen marble sculpture called “The Sacrifice”. The afternoon light streams into the room through windows placed high in the walls, creating eerily quiet shadows which silently sorrow on the marble faces. It is one of those places where you just have to feel at peace, yet without the ever-present morbidity of, say, a cemetery.

I could have spent days just wandering around Harvard taking in the beauty of it all. They seem to have the best of both worlds: two hundred year-old buildings with fully modern interiors. Which is not to say they weren’t opulent. We peeked into a couple of random lounge/study rooms. I would have been afraid to even walk on the carpet. The grounds were absolutely immaculate. I remember thinking that Harvard was like a large museum. I suppose in many ways it is.

No trip to Boston would be complete without a visit to American Repertory Theatre, one of the leading resident theatres in the county and home to an MFA program which has politely rejected my application three years in a row. Can I just say one more time how awful the city streets are around there? Jeez. I eventually managed to find 64 Brattle Street, an address I remembered off the top of my head. Pretty non-descript from the outside, but the theatre is surrounded by some of the most spectacular homes in Cambridge.

The trip each way was just exhausting. Three hours from Littleton to Boston by car, plus a six hour plane ride, followed by an hour drive back to Irvine. How can one be so tired after spending an entire day sitting more or less motionless? Hmph. Anyway, there are a dozen or so other photos from the trip on the photo pages. Do a search for “Boston”.

I’m currently in Littleton, New Hampshire.

This place reminds me of Alaska. I guess it should… New Hampshire and the southern part of Alaska occupy a similar latitude. Littleton reminds me of Eagle River, the town I lived in during those carefree Alaska years. I remember Eagle River as having a real homey feel to it, which is odd because the town was growing so quickly. In fact, it was billed as the fastest growing city in America when I lived there (1982-1985).

But there were a lot of constants: playing Donkey Kong at the laundromat, trying to eat a whole steak at the Northern Lights steak house (they gave you a sticker that said “I ATE THE WHOLE THING!” if you did; funny what you’ll do for a sticker when you’re 10 years old), watching the houses go up all over town. We used to sneak into the under-construction houses and steal sugar cubes the workers would leave there for their coffee. Yum.

I wonder what it looks like today, what my old neighborhood is like. Does that long sloping driveway still go down to 2403 Teklankia? Does it still flood every spring when the snow melts? Are there still fish in the creek behind the house? It’s sad that those years played such an influential part in my adolecence, and yet I haven’t kept in touch with anyone. I wanted to. I started to, but over time things like high school, teenage angst, and life in general get in the way. The relationships wither away and die the death of a hundred letters and phone calls never quite made.

In any case, the graduation ceremony was yesterday. It was a real small-town affair. Stephanie went to a private high school called “The White Mountain School”. Total student population: about 85. Her graduating class had just over twenty people in it. The graduation was held at the Littleton Opera House. I cracked up when they told me that. Can you imagine a town of 5,500 people having its own opera house? I sing at the Orange County Performing Arts Center with Opera Pacific all the time; now that is an opera house. It seats 3,000. This place probably sat 300.

It was a beautiful building, built early 1800’s and restored about ten years ago. But it’s far from a serious performing arts facility. I’ve never seen a real theatre that had a half dozen large windows streaming light into the performance space. And the stage was no more than 20 feet wide. I asked my family if any opera was ever performed there. They looked at me like I was crazy.

Anyway. Today we went horseback riding with Stephanie. She has been riding since she was nine, and now has four horses. Only two of them are rideable, so she took the mustang while I rode Sugar, a quarterhorse with a mind of its own. By the end Megan was pretty banged up from having to sit on the back of the horse; she was essentially sitting on the base of it’s backbone which was surprisingly sharp and bony. We both fell off once due to a loose saddle. Megan got bumped off a second time when Sugar tried to run us into a tree. But we had a great time going through the countryside. As usual, I forgot my camera.

In the fall Stephanie will be going to a college in Virginia to study equine business and other horse-releated things. It sounds pretty cool, she will even be taking one of her horses to college. I’ve never seen her at a show yet, but Steph was recently out west to compete with her newest horse at Del Mar.

Write It Like You Stole It

Continuing in the fine tradition of Apple Computer and Microsoft, I’m saw something developed by someone else that I liked, and am stealing it for my own financial gain.

OK, so maybe that’s a little overdramatic. But I have to admit that my pal Tony (better known as Tony the Child Drunkard) started doing this first.

What is “this” you ask? It’s a journal type thing that’s updated periodically. I’ve got more than 300 people I exchange email with (if you ever email and don’t get an immediate reply, that might be why), so I’m a little bit ahead of Tony in that department. But I can’t compete with his cheezy 70’s-ishness, so we’ll just call it even.

Kibbles & Bits & Bits & Bits….

First, I am one of the newest members of the Vanguard Theatre Ensemble, a fine establishment which has been around for hundreds and hundreds of years. 1992, actually. They have won many Tony Awards; but Tony is a Child Drunkard so we can’t put much stock in that. I like the Vanguard because the ensemble idea of theatre is one that really appeals to me. So many question marks are removed when you know who you’re dealing with all the time.

I just had a cool audition for the Los Angeles Classical Theatre Lab. Ever since I saw a production of Under Milkwood (a Dylan Thomas play) they did earlier at the Hudson this year I’ve been anxious to be a part of this group. It was one of the best shows I’ve ever seen in my life, and it was a freaking workshop! I don’t know if I got in… I’ll let you know next week.

An exciting theatrical producing/acting project is moving forward. Some of you already know about it. For those of you who don’t let’s just say “an ax is not a toy”. Just be sure to leave an evening open in Feb./March of ‘98. Have your people call my people. We’ll do lunch. Dahling!

I’m still recovering from a lovely housewarming party thrown by Wendy and Sarah, who happen to be renting the last cool house in Los Angeles County costing less than $4.6 million (where is Larry Parker when you need him, anyway?).

Seattle

I just returned from Seattle, Washington. My brother and his family live there. I spent a great week recovering from recent events and also got to see one of America’s greatest cities.

I saw the world premiere of a new show called Tongue of a Bird at the Intiman Theatre. I hope this show makes its way down to Southern California, because it’s a wonderful story, and this production has some amazing visuals. The story centers around a female pilot who is hired to search for a missing girl in the wilderness.

If you’ve never been to the Seattle Center, it’s something not to miss if you’re ever in the Northwest. It was the site of the 1962 World’s Fair, and now it’s a major arts mecca. It’s home to:

Intiman Theatre
Seattle Repertory (2 theatres)
Seattle Children’s Theatre (2 theatres)
Opera House (home of Seattle Opera and Pacific Northwest Ballet)
Group Theatre

Plus tons of exhibits, museums, and the cool International Fountain. It’s got to be 100 yards in diameter, and you can walk down into the center of it while it’s operating (yes, you get extremely wet if you do this).

I also visited the headquaters of Microsoft. Briefly. Also took the Boeing tour and got to see 747’s under construction. It’s unbelieveable how they can take 6 million random parts and turn it into an 800,000 pound steel bird in only 4 months. Boeing now has more than 200,000 employees worldwide. They build these jumbo jets inside the world’s largest building (by volume). It’s so large that all of Disneyland (including the parking lot) would easily fit inside it.

Howard and I also toured the Air & Space Museum up there. They have an actual Air Force One aircraft on display (a retired Boeing 707) that was used by Kennedy, Nixon, Ford, Carter, and Reagan. The interior was amazing. I also enjoyed seeing an SR-71 Blackbird, an Apollo space capsule, and sitting in an F-18 Hornet.

I also sampled the cuisine at Pike Place, as well as checking out a giant troll that lives under a bridge in Fremont and a 17-ton brass sculpture of Lenin (the Russian, not the Beatle) that was transplanted from Czechoslovakia around 1990.

Kumi Yamashita

I have to close my first entry by sharing a new artist I recently discovered. Her name is Kumi Yamashita, and I saw an exhibition of her work at the Seattle Art Museum. Perhaps it’s just all the stuff I’ve been going through lately, but I feel a special affinity for her work.

This piece is untitled. It was created in 1997 and the medium is wood, light, and cast shadows.

Yamashita wants us to question all our expectations, so she starts by pulling the rug out from beneath predictable relationships between solids and their shadows. For example, she throws a raking light on a scattering of carved wooden objects affixed to a wall, and the cast shadow is not a jumble of lines and curves but a human body. What we see is so much more complex that what we thought we could predict.

Her artwork is, in part, a response to the teasing she endured in high school in Indiana, where she was the only non-caucasian. She believes that people are like the shadow profile on the wall; knowing the elements that compose them is not enough to enable us to explain or understand them.

Ugliness resides in stereotyping and rigidity. Beauty resides in change. Shadows are beautiful in their mutability. Of the image above, Yamashita said, “She’s not stopping… she is walking away from permanency. As she leaves the bocks, she’s falling apart. But the shadow is not her physical body, it’s what’s inside of her.”

According to Vicki Halper at the Seattle Art Museum, the notion of the truthfulness of shadows is the basis of a story (”the invention of painting”) by the ancient Roman historian Pliny the Elder, who wrote of a young woman who traced on the wall the shadow cast by her departing lover’s head. Many believed that the appearance and personality of the person casting the shadow was truly reflected in the shadow silhouette.

This ombremanie, or “shadow mania”, captivated Europe in the 18th century and was the frequent subject of art from that period.

Until next time…