Brass But Not in Pocket

I haven’t had a lot of success taking photos of coins with the otherwise terrific old iPhone camera, with the images coming out distorted in one way or another, or at least bad looking. Today I had a slap-my-forehead moment: I’ve been doing it wrong. The thing to do is take group shots.

Such as group shots from the five-pound box of foreign cheapies, that is. Many of which have long ceased to be legal tender in their countries of origin.

The shiny one with a hole in the center is a Japanese five-yen coin, my favorite among the pocket change of Japan when I lived there. Brass. Roughly the equivalent of a U.S. five-cent coin, so they didn’t have much monetary value, even in the 1990s. But they were good-looking coins when new. Even when older and dull yellow, there was a charm of that hole.

The 50-yen coin had a hole was well, but it was a wafer of cupronickle, which might be sturdy material for circulating coins and all-around useful alloy, it doesn’t have the luster of gold or silver, or the shine of copper or brass.

Floss Jumble

Unexpected rain in the night, followed by a warmish day. I didn’t have a lot of time to loaf around on the deck today, but spent a few minutes there in the afternoon. More of the same warmth for a few more days, then another taste of coolth after the equinox.

Over the years, various small objects have been accidentally washed, and sometimes dried, in our machines, usually the contents of pockets: coins, plastic bags, receipts and other bits of paper, pens and so on. A familiar thing. But this week, a first.

That’s what happens when dental floss goes through the washer.

A $100,000 Space Suit, Almost

International Talk Like A Pirate Day has rolled around again. Where does the time go? Soon enough, it will be Millard Fillmore’s birthday and then National Gorilla Suit Day.

The art of the headline isn’t one of my strengths, but I understand the tendency to fudge just a bit for the sake of grabbing those eyeballs. Take the “$100,000 space suit.” That’s what the reader will see, the thinking goes, relegating “almost” to a second-place consideration, if that. The text will clarify.

Unless it doesn’t. I don’t know whether formal studies of the matter have been done, but they don’t need to be. It’s clear that the exaggeration is more easily retained by human memory than the small-print facts of the matter. You could argue an evolutionary advantage in that kind of big-picture perception for savanna dwellers of yore, but I’m not smart enough to know whether that’s the case.

Here’s the fine print: the item I’m talking about isn’t, in fact, a real space suit, and probably not selling for $100,000. The other day I saw a snippet about an auction to be held next month by Heritage Auctions, “The World’s Largest Collectibles Auctioneer.” The item for sale: Astronaut Space Suit (6) Piece Ensemble from 2001: A Space Odyssey (MGM, 1968).

At a starting bid of $80,000, the item might indeed sell for $100,000 or more, so my headline isn’t completely off base.

More detail, according to Heritage: “Vintage original (6) piece astronaut space suit ensemble including…  helmet, metal neck ring, tubing and applied ‘United States Aeronautics Agency – Clavius Base’ decal, leather lined interior retaining a label handwritten ‘Sean Sullivan’… These space suits can be seen prominently during the Moon crater and Moon Bus shuttle scenes… This epic piece of film history exhibits age, paint cracking to the entirety of the coveralls and gloves, crazing to the left side of the helmet visor, paint chipping to the backpack, and heavy production use.”

Cool. I hope the likes of the Seattle museum formerly called EMP acquires it for display; that would be a good outcome for the auction. I am, of course, a longstanding fan of that movie. I will not, however, ever find myself the proud owner of a faux space suit associated with it.

Mid-September Sights

Chilly nights, warm days. Such are conditions here in Illinois not long before the fall equinox. The trees are still holding on to their leaves, including our quaking aspen.

Goldenrod, seen here in the back 40 of my yard – that is, the back 40 square feet or so, and how is it farmers had back 40s? Something to do with a quarter of a quarter section, which would be 40 acres, though I expect the metaphorical sense long ago superseded the literal one.

Out on a northwest suburban street.

It isn’t until Saturday, but some local motorists have been ready for Mexican Independence Day since last weekend.

Summer’s Lease Hath All Too Short a Date

Adios, August. The black-eyed Susans are looking a little wilted, and the hibiscus are thin, but golden rod is on the way (and ragweed, I assume). Last night’s “blue moon” was a nice full moon, which we took note of when walking the dog. Back on September 5.

Last week, after walking the dog on a particularly steamy evening at Volkening Lake, I used my crummy camera to document her panting, because why not. Sometimes the crummy camera takes interesting shots.

Does the procession of seasons care about our calendar? I suspect not, but September 1 is always worth a mention. In July, I had a zoom with three old friends – Dan and Rich and Steve – for first time in quite a while.

The first day of September is relevant to us, since Rich and I, who already knew each other, met Dan and Steve, who already knew each other, on September 1, 1981, and it wasn’t long before we formed a pretty tight unit.

Not long ago, I got a request from the manager of a non-hotel property I stayed at this summer, who asked for a five-star review, or whatever. I replied.

M—-,

In your previous email you asked for a top rating for your property: X, where I stayed from Y to Z. I would like to rate the place highly, but I cannot. The property itself was comfortable enough, and well located, and I had no issue with access (fortunately).

However, when I arrived at the property, I noticed that the fan was broken — it could not be turned on, as the on/off knob did nothing. These things happen; I understand that. The room was a little hot when I arrived, so I sent you an email at this address, calling your attention to the issue.

That went out at at 7:11 pm. A little later, at 8:50 pm, I sent a text message to [number] asking whether you’d received my email. In both messages, you had my phone number.

As it turned out, the room cooled down enough in the night so that the fan wasn’t really an issue.

What is an issue, is that you didn’t respond at all to my messages. Or, if you were busy, someone else you’d tasked to answer didn’t. In either case, that is a serious red flag. What if I couldn’t get in? What if the toilet had overflowed? Or some other serious problem?

In short, you must respond to your guests. Even if you’d said, I can’t get you a new fan until tomorrow, that would have been satisfactory.

I hope this was an anomaly. But I don’t know. So I’m not posting any recommendation.

Take care.

I haven’t heard from him since, and I suspect he’s learned nothing, dismissing me as a whiner. That guy, wanting service and all. Geez.

Some images from this summer, now waning. At the Getty in June.

“St. Margaret,” German, ca. 1420

Ann’s water bottle, July. Note the – yes – iconic figures.

Taken today: the last remaining creations from Yuriko’s cake class.

Caramel and pecan eclairs. They won’t last much longer.

Turtle Creek Parkway, Tanks and White Line Frankenstein

Tooling along one of southern Wisconsin’s two-lane highways a week ago Friday, the radio station I happened to be tuned into – I’m not giving up terrestrial radio on road trips – introduced a new song by Alice Cooper, with a few words from the artist himself. That got my attention. Alice Cooper, shock rocker of my adolescence, is still making records?

He is, at the fine old age of 75. I never was a big fan of his, except of course for “School’s Out,” but I was glad to hear that all the same. Keep on keeping on, old guy.

For my part, I kept on driving, passing the greens and golds of high corn and the utilitarian buildings that support farming, intersections with gravel roads, hand-painted signs and, now and then, another vehicle. It was an obscenely pleasant July day, clear and warm and not nearly as hot as much of the rest of the country.

The new song came on. Title, “White Line Frankenstein.” Remarkable how consistent Alice Cooper has been through the years. What does he sound like, now that he’s a senior shock rocker? Sounds a lot like young Alice Cooper. A good showman finds something that works and sticks with it, and there’s no arguing his showman abilities.

About half way through the song I was inspired to pull off to the side of the road near where a rail line crossed the road, and take pictures.rural Wisconsin rural Wisconsin rural Wisconsin

Missed the last half of the song, but oh well.

Near Beloit, Wisconsin – close to the town of Shopiere, but not in any town, is a spot called Turtle Creek Parkway, a Rock County park. At four acres, it’s the rural equivalent of a pocket park, with its star attraction across a field next to Turtle Creek: the Tiffany Bridge, or the Tiffany Stone Bridge, vintage 1869, which as far as I know is still a working railroad bridge. (Tiffany is another nearby town.)Tiffany Bridge, Shopiere Tiffany Bridge, Shopiere

More than 20 years ago, I visited the bridge, accompanied by small child and pregnant wife. It wasn’t a park then, just a wide place in the road to stop. Enough people must have stopped there for the county to get a hint, I guess, and acquire and develop the land by adding a boat launch on Turtle Creek, a small rental event building, and a small parking lot.

Regardless, it’s hard to take a bad up-close picture of the structure.Tiffany Bridge, Shopiere Tiffany Bridge, Shopiere Tiffany Bridge, Shopiere

Just a hunch: the arches are too sturdy to destroy in a cost-effective way, so it abides.

Rather than return to the Interstate right away, I headed out from Shopiere onto the small roads where I eventually heard about Alice Cooper. Not long before that encounter, I spotted a tank in the hamlet of Turtle, Wisconsin.Turtle, Wisconsin

Another former Wisconsin National Guard tank, an M60A3.Turtle, Wisconsin Turtle, Wisconsin

It’s part of a plaza honoring veterans of the area. Interesting to run into another tank in southern Wisconsin so soon after the last one. I decided to keep an eye out for tanks on the rest of the drive, and sure enough I spotted more as the drive progressed.

Delavan, Wisconsin

On Friday, a week after the Bastille Day Lightning Strike — certain things in one’s life just need their own names, such as that or the long-ago Mirabella Incident, when I was the focus of an Italian town’s attention for a few minutes — I opened the deck umbrella to shield myself from the noonday sun, which is pretty much the only thing the umbrella is good for.

I have a conversation piece for anyone who visits my deck in the summer.

Early in July, we passed through Delevan, Wisconsin, pop. 8,500.

“During the second half of the 1800s, as many as two dozen circuses flocked to the Walworth County town of Delavan to winter their horses, elephants and other big tent critters,” said the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel in a 2011 article.

“The famed P.T. Barnum Circus was organized in Delavan in 1871… The Mabie brothers, who ran the U.S. Olympic Circus — during its time the largest traveling show in the country — quartered their animals during the off-season at the site of the Lake Lawn Resort on Delavan Lake because of its abundant pastures and water.

“Alas, the last circus closed its winter digs in 1894, and within 25 years, the huge ring barns and other landmarks were gone.”

So Baraboo isn’t Wisconsin’s only circus town, though it is the one with the Circus World circus museum. Baraboo claims the Ringling Bros. circus. Delevan, which is in southeastern Wisconsin only a few miles northwest of Lake Geneva, claims P.T. Barnum’s circus, as this Walldogs mural attests.Delavan, Wisconsin

Barnum’s circus – mainly, he lent his name and financial backing – later merged with Bailey’s circus, and that entity was eventually bought by Ringling Bros. So I suppose Baraboo prevailed in that sense, though the combined circus skedaddled to Florida in the early 20th century anyway.

We stopped for a look around and possibly lunch, which we ended up eating in Elkhorn, a few miles away. Delevan has a pleasant main street, Walworth Ave., marked by century-old (at least) buildings.Delavan, Wisconsin Delavan, Wisconsin

Note the street bricks. They are apparently distinctive enough to be on the National Register of Historic Places as Delavan’s Vitrified Brick Street. So we trod on historic ground, very literally.

The mural isn’t the only reminder of the town’s circus past.Delavan, Wisconsin Delavan, Wisconsin

Those figures are in the aptly named Tower Park. A water tower emblazoned with the town name dwarfs them.Delavan, Wisconsin

Unlike many water towers, you can stand right under the one in Delevan. Delavan, Wisconsin Delavan, Wisconsin Delavan, Wisconsin

Maybe I should take more pictures of water towers, though of course I’ve taken a few other images over the years.

Strike

On Friday, we walked the dog just ahead of sunset. It had been an overcast day, warm and humid, but not too bad. The clouds didn’t look particularly threatening at that moment, either for rain or wind or a possible thunderstorm.

After we returned, I went out to our deck to enjoy the twilight and to read a book I’d just started, A Need to Testify by Iris Origo (1984), which is composed of biographical sketches of four brave anti-fascists – you’d have to be brave – in Fascist Italy. It seemed like a good thing to read after I’d re-read Homage to Catalonia, which seemed like a good thing to re-read after many years, and after visiting Catalonia.

The deck has a broad view off to the south. As dusk settled in on Friday, I noticed cloud-to-cloud lightning far off to the southwest. Blue and white lighting up the gray clouds. So far away that I heard no thunder, and not close enough for me to head inside. Not yet, anyway. Still, it’s good to take lightning seriously. Drops of rain started to fall, but not many. Enough to splash the book. I parked myself under the house’s awning and kept reading in that dry spot. My glasses, which I’d left on cast-iron table on the deck, started collecting droplets.

For 10 or 15 minutes, it got darker but the rain got no heavier. There wasn’t much wind, if any. I looked up from my book and noticed the lightning to the southwest was now a lot closer. Time to go inside, I thought, and I collected my glasses and my book and pretty soon I’d settled on the couch in the living room to carry on reading. Soon I heard heavy rain but still not much wind, and scattered thunder off in the distance.

The rain grew heavier and the thunder grew louder and then BOOM! That meant close by lightning. Very close. BOOM! BOOM! Somewhere in the neighborhood, I figured. Not unusual at all. Happens a few times a year. The rain continued and I continued reading. Our power was still on and I hadn’t heard anything hit the roof, so I wasn’t worried. Before long, in no more than a half hour, the thunder and rain had slacked off.

Late that evening, when all was quiet outside, Ann let the dog out into the back yard, and then came to me and said, “You should look outside. The table’s knocked over.”

What? Really?

There it was – our cast-iron table, flipped nearly upside down, about eight or nine feet from where it usually is (I measured later) and four feet from the door but not blocking it, with the deck umbrella thrust toward the ground near where we keep our blue recycle bin.

Wind did that? I wondered. What wind? I didn’t hear any wind during the storm. How was it I didn’t hear the table crashing to the other side of the deck?

Considering that it was dark, and still wet on the deck, and the hour was latish – about 11 by this time – I left the task of moving the table back until the morning. Also, I wanted to take a few pictures.deck 7/15/2023

The table is on the right, of course. To the left is a heavy base in which we put the umbrella pole. So the table and umbrella flew in tandem from that point to where they came to rest, leaving the base behind.deck 7/15/2023

If not for the deck umbrella, I think the table would have gone further, and maybe flipped all the way over. In any case, the table, which is cast-iron and weighs maybe 100 pounds, has never been moved by wind from its spot on the deck in the 20 years we’ve lived here, though occasionally the umbrella has been lifted away, and sometimes ahead of wind I move the table to be flush with the house’s wall. I know that the table could fly, of course, in the event of a tornado, say. Or maybe a focused micro-burst? A really focused micro-burst?

I checked for other damage in the area. Luckily, I found none. The deck was OK (though it’s old). The roof looked OK, which was a relief, since it isn’t that old. The back yard fences were still standing, as they have in much worse wind after I re-enforced them this spring. There weren’t even any branches on the ground in either the back or front yards.

How precise was that micro-burst anyway? And could it properly be called a micro-burst? A nano-burst maybe?

For a few minutes, that took me on a digression. I knew that pico-, femto- and atto- are smaller than nano-, in that order getting smaller, so I wondered about the whimsical coinage of pico-burst or femto-burst or atto-burst. How much force would those smaller winds involve? Not much, I imagine. A femto-burst might be what, a fart?

I looked up the metric prefixes and found out that recently – last year – the General Conference on Weights and Measures (Conférence générale des poids et mesures, CGPM), which defines measurement standards internationally, added four more prefixes to the SI.

Two smaller: ronto and quecto, 10 to the minus 27th power and 10 to the minus 30th, respectively. Two larger: ronna and quetta, 10 to the 27th power and 10 to the 30th, respectively.

Just for reference: 10 to the 30th power is

1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000.

Just for grins, because who could use a number that large or that small? Scientists and engineers, apparently, which makes me marvel that the frontiers of science and engineering involve measurements of that inconceivable kind.

For comparison: “A convenient unit of length for measuring nuclear sizes is the femtometre (fm), which equals [10 to the -15th power] metre,” Britannica says.

“The diameter of a nucleus depends on the number of particles it contains and ranges from about 4 fm for a light nucleus such as carbon to 15 fm for a heavy nucleus such as lead.”

Back to the Bastille Day incident on my deck. I moved the table and umbrella back to their usual positions on Saturday morning. The table wasn’t scratched or mangled in any way. The canvass umbrella was a little dirty, but undamaged. I could fold and unfold it. (It had been folded during the incident.)

I took a short nap on Saturday afternoon, and when I woke, the first thing I thought was lightning.

There wasn’t the kind of wind needed to hoist the table; or at least, I didn’t hear it, and I probably would have. There was no audio or video running in the living room during the storm. A lightning strike, on the other hand, could move a table. But would it do so without causing other damage? Without burn marks somewhere? Without knocking out the house’s electrical system? There weren’t even any flickers.

Still, the case for lightning was strong. A strike certainly could have the energy to move the table. It would also account for the fact that I didn’t hear the table move. No one in the house did. That measly noise would have been drowned out by the thundering BOOM!

I took a closer look at the umbrella. Fairly faint marks I took for dirt at first didn’t rub off, even with a little water. They were burn marks.deck 7/15/2023 deck 7/15/2023

So lightning had hit the umbrella pole, which is also iron, and blasted the whole setup generally eastward. Parallel to the door, wall and a window. As lightning strikes go, it must have been low powered. Or was it? If you’d asked me before, I’d have thought the umbrella pole wasn’t much of a target, since our much larger honey locus tree lords over the deck and pole. Guess that was a faulty assumption. Or is it? Lightning had never struck the deck in 20 years; or the tree either.

Whatever the imponderables of the strike, we got off easy. No damage, no fire, no electrical disruption.

I’d been sitting at the table maybe 30 minutes before, but I don’t count the strike as a near miss in terms of bodily harm. Three minutes before or 30 seconds before, maybe, but the rain and the exact prospect of lightning had driven me in well before the strike.

The incident will change my behavior on one point, however. That umbrella, which is only up during the warm months, is coming down ahead of thunderstorms, if I can manage it.

Venice Beach

Caught a bit of an advertisement for a large funeral home chain on YouTube the other day. Guess the algorithm is aware that, statistically speaking, I’m closer to the end of my life than the beginning, no matter what. That’s not so strange, but it took me a moment to realize that the ad was referring to funerals – you know, the thing the company is selling – because it didn’t use that word, but said it would behoove me to prepare for my “celebration of life.”

How did that conversation go?

“No, no, take the word funeral out of the script.”

“But aren’t you selling pre-need funerals?”

“Sure, but you can’t use that word. It’ll remind people of death.”

Are we so squeamish about death? Sometimes I think so, and probably we are compared to – say – people living in the 19th century or pretty much any century before that. Still, I’m not sure potential funeral home customers would be that upset to hear about funerals.

Be that as it may, I’m still alive and looking for paths to travel. And I mean literal paths, such as the one that leads from the canals of Venice (in California) to the beach at Venice. It wasn’t a long path.Venice, California Venice, California

The path leads to a much longer one, two paths actually, that parallel the beach: one for pedestrians, the other for bicyclists.Venice Beach, California

Walk far enough to the north, toward Santa Monica, and you come across tennis courts, basketball courts, a skatepark and of course, Muscle Beach, whose equipment was fenced in. Not too many weightlifters were around, but then again, the entire area was only modestly crowded. I think overcast skies and 60-degree F. temps are just right for walking or otherwise moving along the ocean, but many people don’t seem to share that feeling.

Some do.Venice Beach, California

A raft of businesses, most catering to tourists and other visitors, face the beach.Venice Beach, California Venice Beach, California Venice Beach, California

Santa Monica Pier, visible in the distance (I didn’t make it again), is elaborate with shops and cafes and an amusement park and an aquarium.

Venice Pier is simple.Venice Beach, California

People were fishing from the pier. It offers a nice view of the wide beach, too.Venice Beach, California

Plus a look at some surfers. They weren’t deterred by the cool air or, for that matter, the chilly water.Venice Beach, California

Everything I know about surfing is second hand, mostly from unreliable sources. At one time, for instance, I heard that surfing was mighty wild and getting bigger every day, from Hawaii to the shores of Peru.

So I decided to spend a little while watching the surfers, to see what I could learn. Mostly I saw them ride the wave.Venice Beach, California Venice Beach, California

And then fall down.Venice Beach, California

Guess that makes surfing a metaphor for life. You’re riding along for a moment and then – down you go. Get up and it happens again.

Barcelona Scraps

One of these days, we might have a string of holidays and quasi-holidays from Juneteenth to July 4, the warm equivalent of Christmas to New Year’s Day. Anyway, back on July 9 or so.

Not as much smoke today, though it is still an air pollution action day, according to the NWS. Curious term. You’d think it would be an inaction day, at least as far as outdoors activity is concerned.

Barcelona city trucks. Specifically, neteja (cleaning).Barcelona cleaning truck Barcelona cleaning truck

The Temple d’August, which is tucked away on a narrow street in the Gothic Quarter. Barcelona

The only Roman ruins we saw on the trip. Toyed with the idea of going to Tarragona to visit its extensive ruins, but that didn’t happen.

“The uniform columns of the Temple of Augustus inside are 9 metres tall and comprise an imposing relic of one of the temples from Barcelona’s Forum, which stood on a corner site at the rear,” Visit Barcelona says. “The temple was built in the 1st century BC and, as its name suggests, it was dedicated to the worship of Emperor Augustus…. The temple was reconstructed by the architect Puig i Cadafalch in the early 20th century.”

La Rambla, near one end. The end near the ocean.La Rambla

Columbus still looks out to sea at that point, as he has done since 1888. Monument a Colom, the maps call it, and efforts to take it down have been unsuccessful so far.La Rambla

There was also a lot of construction in the area, with blocked off sections. I can’t see a sign like that in Spain and not be reminded of no pasarán!

The context is just a little different in this case, however. “Do not pass,” the dictionaries tell me, as opposed the more emphatic will not pass!

I expected to see fast food in Barcelona, but Five Guys was nevertheless a surprise, across the street from Sagrada Familia. Five Guys’ web site tells me that there are currently seven locations in the city, and 28 in Spain all together, with 13 of those in greater Madrid.Barcelona Five Guys

Model of Jesus’ head, on display in the small museum in the basement of Sagrada Família.Sagrada Familia

Cava sangria.

“This variation of sangria called Sangria de Cava in Spanish is made with the sparkling wine Cava, which can be white or rosé,” says Allrecipes. “The name Cava is a protected designation of origin in the European Union, which means that only sparkling wine produced in certain areas of Spain may be sold under that name. To make Cava Sangria, you can use another sparkling white wine instead. The rest of the ingredients is pretty similar to sangria. Cava Sangria often includes orange liqueur.”

Stickers on a wall in Barcelona. A common thing to see. No Buc-ee’s sticker. Not yet.

I took a picture of someone taking a picture of seemingly uninterested musicians, in Parc de la Ciutadella.Barcelona

Sometimes you’d see the independence flag. Not that often, however. The latest effort at independence fizzled, after all.Catalonia flag

Near Palau Güell, you can find the Gaudi Supermercat, Art Gaudi Souvenirs, and the Hotel Gaudi.Barcelona Barcelona 2023 Barcelona 2023

Not everything in the area had Gaudi’s name slapped on it. If we’d been hungry, we might have bought kebabs from this fellow.Barcelona 2023

Elsewhere, more Barcelona flowers.Barcelona 2023 Barcelona 2023

Finally, manhole covers. Like Dublin, Barcelona had some good manhole covers.Barcelona manhole cover 2023 Barcelona manhole cover 2023 Barcelona manhole cover 2023 Barcelona manhole cover 2023

Which is tapa de clavegueram in Catalan, at least according to automated online translation. Now you know.