January 15, 2006
MLK 2006 Sacramento March
King Research and Education Institute Stanford University
King Speeches/Sermons (Quicktime/Realplayer)
Posted by cystdog at 11:55 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
January 02, 2006
The journey to becoming a real patch wearing pirate
I broke my glasses, or rather "lost" my glasses on Christmas Eve while driving. They were the only pair I had, as I'd been holding out on going to the optometrist to get examined and get a new prescription. That was a Saturday night, and I had to be back to work Tuesday, so I knew Monday, I'd have to run to LensCrafters to get an emergency pair of glasses, and pay out of pocket as they aren't in my insurer's (VSP) "network".
OK, no biggie. While I was there, I figured I might as well get the full eye examination and get my pupils dilated, just to make sure everything was ok. It had been 5 yrs since I'd had that done, and thought I should take a peek for safety's sake.
Well, they found something, in my left eye. They call it a "Choroidal Nevus". The O.D. at first called it a "freckle", but strongly encourage me to get an appointment with an Ophthalmologist.
This is the first pre-cancer type medical condition I've discovered. I thought I'd be a lot more alarmed when I was told about something like this, but at the time, my overriding concern was to be able to get a pair of glasses that night. I was also getting very "interested" in the friendly optician that was assisting me, and she discovered as much after taking my blood pressure.
I've yet to make the appointment, and just recently changed my primary doctor, so I guess I'll have to go in on my vacation and see whats up. The O.D. said they would most likely start a regime of 3-6 mo. monitoring appointments, then if after 2 years, no growth, increase to 12 mo. intervals. From what I've read, the statistics are promising that nothing will ever develop. I would opt for
irradiation and/or laser surgery before throwing in the towel, and going Sammy D/Pirate style, otherwise known as Enucleation
I never thought it would be my eyes that would give me a problem. My imagination wandered a little after reading up on these "freckles", but I've chilled out after crunching the numbers, and learning of the success of treatment they have with early detection. I kept wondering if I hadn't broke my glasses, how long it would have been before I discovered this? I guess that answer will only come with time.
Here are a few sites I've been browsing:
In the mean time, I'm going to check out eye patches and fake eye balls.
Here are some of the latest styles:
http://www.eyepatchheaven.com/eyepatch.htm
Posted by cystdog at 04:14 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
December 25, 2005
Merry Christmas!
Even Santa gets a little nausea from XMas and commercialism.
Posted by cystdog at 10:04 AM
December 20, 2005
New Year trying to break through
Took this and other photos on the way down Florin from the Sac County Registrar of Voters. I was headed east, and the inside of the cab of my truck filled with orange light as the sun broke through the clouds. I had to stop and take some pics of this. Stopped at Excelsior Rd. @ Florin. Also tried a few B & W shots. It struck me that it looked like what I'd imagined future time would look like colliding with and ripping through into our time.
Posted by cystdog at 09:27 PM | Comments (0)
December 05, 2005
Sick as a dog and cat, and mouse and hippo
Man, I drew the karmactic motherlode this weekend. I must of angered the gods on some other planet, and their tv transmissions of venom about me are just now reaching this place. It hit me like a neutron bomb. I woke up Saturday Morning with the trademark sore neck, sinus pressure, inner ear pain, and then within minutes of awaking....the nausea began, which foretold for me, a day of vomiting. And it was, a day of relentless purging. I tried emetrol, and that came up. I took some Sudafed sinus headache pills, and that returned to sender.
Tried my usual 1/4 slice of banana and warm diet coke, no good. All the while my head was being scraped out clean from the inside by a small Equatorial Guinea shaman with a Gurkha knife. And so it went;purge;nap.....purge....nap. Drink water, then orally remediate the water 20 minutes later. Constantly massaging my head like a bowling ball, with tears involuntarily running out of my eyes.
About 4pm I had nothing left, and I seriously worried that I would "hit the green" as they say, something I'd done earlier this year in an identical attack. I tried some hot chicken broth, and more warm diet soda. We're talking micro servings here, little spoonfuls and sips. An hour passed, and no "urge to purge" had hit me, this was a good sign. As usual, simultaneously, the headache/sinus pressure was subsiding, ever so slightly, but I was no longer tearing from the pain and I could see clearly, form sentences.
Within two hours, I felt as though someone "replaced the fuse" and things were firing right again. I felt really exhausted, but good, as though I'd had an Iron Mask with spikes embedded in my skull, removed. Then the adrenaline kicked in, and I was feeling good. Very weird, but it always happens this way. I decided to upgrade my meal plan from fluids to something more substantial, as I was now feeling really hungry. It was 9:30pm Saturday night, and I'd last eaten (and retained my food) about 24 hrs before.
Chicken noodle soup with vegetables, chunks of chicken and some Jewish rye bread. I was feeling no pain, and went off into slumberland, awaking the next day, relatively ok. That didn't last. Somehow, after a mid morning nap, I awoke with the ear pain again, and it never left. The headache and neck pain, nausea weren't in action, but the ear pain was as uniquely unpleasant as any of the other symptoms. I toughed it out, and considered calling an advice nurse, but I can't stand calling someone who tells you you're ok when you're not. If I'd lied and said I was 56, I might have gotten taken seriously, but alas, I'm much younger than that, and get the allergy pack brush off usually.
In any case, I crashed, deciding I would "play it by ear", hoping it would subside, or at least be manageable the next day so I could function at work. Nope, not this time. I couldn't stay asleep from more than an hour at a time, then I would wake up from ear discomfort, or from what I'll swear was the sound of slurpee machine running outside our bedroom window. By now, around 3 am, my head is feeling kinda full, and my neck is kicking in. I'm screwed. I had to call in sick today, and my boss seemed pretty cool about it. It's no secret I get quarterly headaches.
What this "condition" always clarifies for me is that I, or my species, is weak, and very vulnerable to very subtle environmental operating condition changes. This thing brings me down like nothing else, except a shovel perhaps can. I've done the ear nose and throat two step at Kaiser, and I really dislike "experimenting" with medicine, especially dealing DAILY with weird, Isle of Dr. Moreau side effects. If this only hits me 4-5 times a year, I figure that I'll just deal with it. Maybe by the time I reach 40, my HMO will decide they can elevate me from the "lets blow him off and help the over-the-counter drug sales" to the "lets-scan-this-moron's-melon-and-justify-the-shareholders -investment-in-this-hunkojunk-catscanner".
Posted by cystdog at 10:22 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
November 06, 2005
The pot of Gold many of us seek: Commitment
Newlyweds are usually expected to wax philosophically about commitment, about undying love and expressions of eternal commitment, but this post by Six Apart VP Anil Dash whose just gotten married stood out to me. His reference to the commitment to family and how for him marriage fell within those boundaries is something I feel strongly about, and have tried to practice in my own life in relationships. I point his post comments out because for many, in the circle of family and friends I have (who are disproportioantely divorced and/ or have remarried/recommitted), marital commitment is discussed much like the discussion about an insurance policy; the premiums, the deductables, the clauses. Check out his post.
Excerpt:
"The defining trait of marriage in these contexts is that the commitment comes first. It doesn't occur to most people to get upset that they don't get to choose their siblings; You just love your brother or sister, or you try to, and you fight sometimes and you disagree, and then you get over it, and that's what family is about. And in some ways, marriage can be like that, too. There's a liberation in knowing you don't have an easy out: You know you're going to make it work, and you're not going to give up.So one of the great things about having had the perspective of another culture's look at marriage was realizing that there's a freedom in knowing you can always count on the commitment as a framework that you work within. The absence of that immutable commitment was the thing I most lamented and was dismayed by in so many of the marriages I saw growing up. And it made it easier to know when I was ready and that I'd found the right person who shared that desire, even in a thoroughly American context."
Posted by cystdog at 01:07 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
October 21, 2005
Headed to the 'Buttes - 10/22
I passed south of the Buttes on the way home from Ukiah this weekend, and it got me stirred up about making the bike trip through there I'd been talking about for so long. So, Saturday AM, I'm gonna load up the bike and camera; my super safety kit for riding around drunks and set out for West Butte Road to begin my ride.
Posted by cystdog at 05:58 AM
September 26, 2005
The first fall rain
Well, it began drizziling on the way home from work this afternoon, and the smell of that; the smell of wet weeds, and trees, grass filling the air, the smell of wet roads and the oil, it was great. The rain is coming down now, hard, and the thunder and lightning are ruling the skies. I'm headed out to Folsom, and will be making a detour up Iron Point Road to the top of the foothills overlooking Folsom, and the valley. They have a greenway adjoining the road, with street furniture and a paved walking path. If you haven't checked it out, you should. I think it should be interesting to see the Sacramento Valley tonight, with all the lightning across the sky. If I can deal with the rain, I'll be trying to get some pics.
Posted by cystdog at 07:18 PM
June 08, 2005
"...I did no more than you let me do."
THE HANGMAN
By Maurice Ogden
THE BOTTOM LINE: "...I did no more than you let me do."
Into our town the hangman came,
smelling of gold and blood and flame.
He paced our bricks with a different air,
and built his frame on the courthouse square.The scaffold stood by the courthouse side,
only as wide as the door was wide
with a frame as tall, or a little more,
than the capping sill of the courthouse door.And we wondered whenever we had the time,
Who the criminal? What the crime?
The hangman judged with the yellow twist
of knotted hemp in his busy fist.And innocent though we were with dread,
we passed those eyes of buckshot lead.
Till one cried, "Hangman, who is he,
for whom you raised the gallows-tree?"Then a twinkle grew in his buckshot eye
and he gave a riddle instead of reply.
"He who serves me best," said he
"Shall earn the rope on the gallows-tree."And he stepped down and laid his hand
on a man who came from another land.
And we breathed again, for anothers grief
at the hangmans hand, was our relief.And the gallows frame on the courthouse lawn
by tomorrow's sun would be struck and gone.
So we gave him way and no one spoke
out of respect for his hangmans cloak.The next day's sun looked mildly down
on roof and street in our quiet town;
and stark and black in the morning air
the gallows-tree on the courthouse square.And the hangman stood at his usual stand
with the yellow hemp in his busy hand.
With his buckshot eye and his jaw like a pike,
and his air so knowing and business-like.And we cried, "Hangman, have you not done,
yesterday with the alien one?"
Then we fell silent and stood amazed.
"Oh, not for him was the gallows raised."He laughed a laugh as he looked at us,
"Do you think I've gone to all this fuss,
To hang one man? That's the thing I do.
To stretch the rope when the rope is new."Above our silence a voice cried "Shame!"
and into our midst the hangman came;
to that mans place, "Do you hold," said he,
"With him that was meat for the gallows-tree?"He laid his hand on that one's arm
and we shrank back in quick alarm.
We gave him way, and no one spoke,
out of fear of the hangmans cloak.That night we saw with dread surprise
the hangmans scaffold had grown in size.
Fed by the blood beneath the chute,
the gallows-tree had taken root.Now as wide, or a little more
than the steps that led to the courthouse door.
As tall as the writing, or nearly as tall,
half way up on the courthouse wall.The third he took, we had all heard tell,
was a usurer..., an infidel.
And "What" said the hangman, "Have you to do
with the gallows-bound..., and he a Jew?"And we cried out, "Is this one he
who has served you well and faithfully?"
The hangman smiled, "It's a clever scheme
to try the strength of the gallows beam."The fourth man's dark accusing song
had scratched our comfort hard and long.
"And what concern," he gave us back,
"Have you ... for the doomed and black?"The fifth, the sixth, and we cried again,
"Hangman, hangman, is this the man?"
"It's a trick", said he, "that we hangman know
for easing the trap when the trap springs slow."And so we ceased and asked now more
as the hangman tallied his bloody score.
And sun by sun, and night by night
the gallows grew to monstrous height.The wings of the scaffold opened wide
until they covered the square from side to side.
And the monster cross beam looking down,
cast its shadow across the town.Then through the town the hangman came
and called through the empy streets...my name.
I looked at the gallows soaring tall
and thought ... there's no one left at allfor hanging ... and so he called to me
to help take down the gallows-tree.
And I went out with right good hope
to the hangmans tree and the hangmans rope.He smiled at me as I came down
to the courthouse square...through the silent town.
Supple and stretched in his busy hand,
was the yellow twist of hempen strand.He whistled his tune as he tried the trap
and it sprang down with a ready snap.
Then with a smile of awful command,
He laid his hand upon my hand."You tricked me Hangman." I shouted then,
"That your scaffold was built for other men,
and I'm no henchman of yours." I cried.
"You lied to me Hangman, foully lied."Then a twinkle grew in his buckshot eye,
"Lied to you...tricked you?" He said "Not I...
for I answered straight and told you true.
The scaffold was raised for none but you.""For who has served more faithfully?
With your coward's hope." said He,
"And where are the others that might have stood
side by your side, in the common good?""Dead!" I answered, and amiably
"Murdered," the Hangman corrected me.
"First the alien ... then the Jew.
I did no more than you let me do."Beneath the beam that blocked the sky
none before stood so alone as I.
The Hangman then strapped me...with no voice there
to cry "Stay!" ... for me in the empty square.
Posted by cystdog at 11:05 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
June 06, 2005
Obsession?
Yes, "Yet Another Gratuitous Graphical Plug of Rancho Cordova"... The sign with the words "Rancho Cordova" that always "affects" me is the first sign you see with an RC mileage headed eastbound on 50, I think on the 48th St. or 51st St. overpass.
It's bugged me since I was a kid returning home from Land Park and Yuba City visitations. Don't always pay attention, but especially after a long trip, it marks some kind of threshold, kind of like seeing the "Sacramento" mileage on a sign in Weed, CA. A subtle feeling sometimes comes over one, that those words mean home, for better or worse, it's home, not just another waypoint, but a beginning and endpoint.
The sense of really being home hits when coming over the rise after Watt, but before Mayhew overpass. The CCC Cross/Nike Missle Silo always serves as a visual cue that you're home, contradictions and all.
Posted by cystdog at 06:14 AM | TrackBack
Simply Cool
Just cool to see Rancho Cordova's name in lights. Even in the lights of a bus route display. And how appropriate.
Posted by cystdog at 06:12 AM | TrackBack
The road of death claims more souls
When you're out on this stretch of White Rock Rd., want to pass someone.....and you see the heads of PEOPLE in the car ahead of you, think for a moment about the fact that they might have family waiting for them somewhere, then flash back to yourself, and think about the people waiting for you to arrive.
and lastly, when that car passes you in the opposite lane, coming from out of nowhere, from that blind corner that immediately dips down into a gully......think about what it would be like to have your headless torso removed from that car's back seat.
Just think about things. Scott Rd. is only seconds away, and Folsom only a few more. The crosses you see out there on both sides of White Rock represent people, people that were expected to arrive somewhere, and never made it.
Posted by cystdog at 06:10 AM | TrackBack
April 29, 2005
Flickr gave me two Pro accounts - so what did I do with them?
Flickr recently rewarded it's early adopters, those who paid for Pro accounts prior to the Yahoo aquisition, with two free Pro accounts to give away. I was one of those folks, and I thought about who I should give these accounts to, and for at least one if them, it was a no brainer.
I regularly browse the Flickr photostreams of folks serving in Iraq, and I came across Nevadog, a Sgt. in the US Army stationed in Tikrit (living in one of Saddam's old palaces) whose blog I'd read semi-regularly, A Soldier's Thoughts, and noticed he only had a limited basic account, so I donated a Pro account to him. Probably the most rewarding feature of Flickr for me yet.
Reading his blog and take on things on the ground is refreshing from the spoonfed dribble we get here stateside. The guy is an Arabic translator, so I find the insights he conveys especially interesting. He's also a family man, and given he's on his second tour in Iraq (under stop-loss), he has an incredible attitude and faith in things. Nevadog represents the best of what being an American is all about. I hope he and all the others serving in Iraq return safely and return soon.
Posted by cystdog at 12:15 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
February 23, 2005
Guerilla Funk : The Martin Luther King You Don't See On TV
Guerrilla Funk Thought Box: Reprint/The Martin Luther King You Don't See On TV
Spotted this article reprint on Paris' Guerilla Funk label website's "Thought Box" section. An accurate account of how the media reports on Dr. King I think, even 10 yrs on.
The Martin Luther King You Don't See On TV
http://www.fair.org/media-beat/950104.html
FAIR- Media Beat
Jan 4, 1995,
By Jeff Cohen and Salim Kujitawala
Posted by cystdog at 05:22 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
February 21, 2005
Goodbye Colonel
Goodbye Colonel
Originally uploaded by scupper.
Posted by cystdog at 04:36 AM | TrackBack
February 12, 2005
The house of many 'o produce deal over burgers
I'll remember this place to the day I die. When I worked for Lucky Produce as a kid, every Sunday we had to work, manditory, and at around 9am - 10am, the owner of Lucky Produce, Joe Mitchell would bring the entire shop crew cheese burgers from "The Market Club" (seen pictured)for our morning break "snack". He'd then sit and bs with us, follow up on repairs needed, remind us of the day's priorities, but mostly, just find out how we were doing and get us those burgers. When he couldn't come over, either because of business or because of his health, he'd send the burgers over with the designated trailer shuffler, a driver whose main job on Sundays was to bring back empty trailers from the 5th Street market in Sacramento, and return over the river with a trailer loaded with produce sitting in our West Sacramento fleet yard. We'd always converge on the guy like vultures. Those cheese burgers came rain or shine 52 weeks of the year, and they were GOOD.
Posted by cystdog at 02:46 AM | TrackBack
February 10, 2005
My High School "Project" vehicle
This is Lucky 101, a 1952 Peterbilt restored by the now out-of-business Lucky Fruit and Produce Transport, owned by the legendary Joe Mitchell, who gave me my first job working with my Dad.
Joe Mitchell commissioned the restoration of this former logging truck he bought in 1980-1981. It was completed in 1985. I was working at Lucky with my Dad when they began the project, then I moved to Yuba City for 2 years, got into trouble up there, and returned in 1983 to live with my Dad and work nights with him at Lucky, working part time there until July 1989, part time during school season Friday nights, Saturday and Sundays, full time in summers and vacations. It was a blast to have a whole shop and trucking facility to myself when I was only 14.
Detailing this classic truck for general upkeep, parades and shows, was part of my initial duties after returning. I also learned to drive trucks in this vehicle, and it was a sweet ride.
It suffered a sad death after rising for the ashes with Joe Mitchell's restoration. Joe Mitchell handed the company over to his son, Emery Mitchell to run in 1991-1992, and the truck was then used as a "yard goat", a truck used to shuffle trailers in the West Sacramento South River Rd. maintenance yard where I worked and the 5th Street Market in Sacramento, where the produce was stored and sold.
In 1992, Lucky was bought out by a former Lucky Produce salesman Miles Smith, who had started his own produce company, Cal Fresh. The last time I saw the Lucky 101 was in 2002, parked on the side of the now defuct Cal-Fresh's warehouse, also on 5th Street near Seavey Circle and my old Jones Way home.
It had been painted White and much of the chrome had been removed. The Chrome Steel wheels had also been replaced. The truck, as of 12/04 is gone, no longer at the old Cal Fresh warehouse, now called ProPacific Fresh.
I'm looking for Lucky 101, looking for who owns her now, for pictures of it's restoration from Joe Mitchell's family and former Lucky employees, all of which I've not talked to since probably 1994-95, some since 1989. It's a little historical quest I'm on. There are so many stories about that truck I want to tell, and only pictures can tell some of them. Who knows, maybe I'll try to buy the damn thing.
Posted by cystdog at 09:14 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
January 11, 2005
Tower in fog
This is a great shot of Sacramento nightlife in December. When I lived in Land Park on 7th Ave and on Jones Way, I used to ride down here and hang out. It's really come around since then. A hopping place at night.
Posted by cystdog at 12:23 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
January 04, 2005
Coco portrait by Bob Langer
I got this portrait as a gift from my mom. My second cousin painted it. He 's painted portraits of other animals who died in our family.
Posted by cystdog at 10:17 PM
Near death (or shame) at Bodega Head - 1992
I got reminded of a spill I took down a cliff at Bodega Head about 12 yrs ago while reading discussion about the Sonoma Coast on SuckTV.
I used to goto Bodega Head religiously for about 7 yrs.. On the occasion I took a "spill", I had been hiking north of the parking lot to this one rock outcropping I'd always climb to and hangout on.
The inlet in the center below cuts around and back out to the ocean . During low tide, you can get all sort of interesting things out of the little cove/sand spit in the back.
source image: California Coastal Records Project
So on the other side of the parking lot, a trail leads south to the "head".
There's a cove with beach available during low tide in between the parking lot, and the "head" and the more treacherous, eroding cliff terrain, which you can climb down to, if you don't mind climbing about 100-125 feet downhill and across, then jumping about 6 ft. to get to the beach, or sliding on your ass, which is not recommended.
So I climbed down to the beach and hung out, daydreaming and not really paying attention to the fact that the tide was coming in, and the beach was slowly dissapearing. There were people up on the top of the cliff, along the trail there flying kites. It was pretty pollyanna of me to sit back and watch them flaping overhead trying to forget about the climb ahead.
It was during the state of bliss that it occurred to me that I could climb up a steeper part of the cliff where a stream runs, and had carved deep enough ruts in the rock to get good foot holds. So, I embarked up the cliff, with a cliff edge audience on my left, my right and above me at the top of the cliff where I would emerge from the "accent".
This was a bad decision. I had high tops on, and was not an experienced climber, but of course had "Manhood Plus" on my side as a fearless 6'3 220lb bonehead.
I got up about 2/3rds of the way when a rock I thought was "attached" wasn't. I fell about 5 feet then slid another few, breaking my fall by grabbing onto a couple of rocks I'd just smashed my knee and back on. I got freaked out while trying to get my bearings and check myself for injuries when this lady at the top of the cliff was howling how someone should call a ranger on me, and was moaning how I was going to hurt myself.
As this dingdong was drawing attention, more people started to congregate along the cliff edge to see Mr. Moron do an encore, or better, fall into the sea that had now filled up the beach below me.
I got pretty pist and yelled above for folks to move along, but it did no good, they stayed and watched. I started to climb up again, more slowly, less cocky, and mapping alternate routes from the one that had led me to loose rock.
I had three options:
- A route to the left that offered a "shelf" and some good ruts about 6-7 ft. above it-kind of tricky getting off the shelf though;
- a middle route, the main course of the little creek that ran down the cliff. It was deep, didn't offer too many closely spaced handholds, but had no loose rock;
- the right route, a loose rock set of ruts with ground cover growing in parts that looked to have been used before.
I decided to go right, thinking I could grab a hold of the plants should I loose my footing. Bad choice again. I ended up getting within 10-12 ft. of the top, and ran out of hand/footholds, in addition to the fact that once getting up there, I discovered the rock was REALLY loose. It was a dead end. Well, dead ends on cliffs mean backtracking, and without any gear, I was in a real world of hurt.
I started back down, and broke loose, sliding into the ground cover and almost flipping again. I grabbed a hold of some plants and they did actually help me regain my balance. I was about where I had started before, and decided to take the middle route. It took me 20 min to go 50 ft.
By the time I got to the top, people had already been talking to me, encouraging me. It actually meant a lot to me in the last 15 ft. The hag that was threatening me with calling a ranger had disappeared and the kids with the kites had begun to fly them again, with them soaring in and out just behind and above me by about 15 ft.
I finally pulled myself into that eroded funnel shaped area with growth and tons of ruts to follow and just laid on my chest when I got to the top.
The folks there clapped, offered me some cold drinks and took my picture. They asked if I knew how to climb, and of course I said no, which led to the question "Then why on earth did you come up out of there that way?" All I could tell them was that it looked like a quicker way out than the way I'd come down, which was bs.
I really pulled that stunt to feel fear, be scared and have a real consequence if I failed and gave up. I later came to believe I was LUCKY, very lucky not to have fallen and seriously hurt myself or worse, died, especially with the sea below me.
A ranger eventually did show up, while I was changing shoes and socks in my car, preparing my ice chest for the drive home. He asked the same question the bystanders had, and said he wouldn't do anything, but give me a warning and a stats sheet of climbing/hiking deaths.
I never did it again. That 20 min on the cliff felt like 4 hrs. I was spent when I got done, so much so that I took a nap in a shopping mall parking lot in Petaluma after eating like a horse.
Long story long, I will never forget Bodega Head and always remember the 20 min on that cliff as I drive down Hwy 1.
Posted by cystdog at 06:15 AM
January 02, 2005
New Year, New Start
Well a new year has started, and lots of unfinished business to take care of. Hopefully, I'll be able to regularly share my thoughts and photos here, if I can manage to carve out time.
Posted by cystdog at 03:26 PM
