3rp.net Blog

Woke up this morning to the sounds of our cat gettin’ his brawl on…we went looking for him, cueing to the yowls…by the time we found him out in the midst of the “savannah” (read: the old overgrown orchard in our back yard), he was slinking away from the scene of the crime. Not too many minutes later, he appeared on the back doorstep…in the worst state I’ve ever seen him.

(FYI the following pictures were NOT taken this morning…just wanted to let you have a look at the big fella himself. This is a 17 pound animal we’re talking about here. Loves his hunting.)

Nasty gash on the back of his left ear, bleeding from a hole in his right ear, bleeding from a gash in his nose (right in the middle of that white stripe) bleeding from his left rear paw…came onto the back porch, shook his head like a boxer trying to clear his vision and splattered blood all over the tile floor…tufts of fur pulled out from various places on his left side…

He did let us compress his ear, and wipe off some of the blood…ate a few scoops of his favorite kibbles, and then went and curled up under a bed to sleep it off. We’re trying to find a bottle of Clavamox to stave off the near certain imminent infection(s).

Reminds me of one of the saddest IMAX presentations I’ve ever seen. When we were in Victoria BC earlier in the year, we went to see “ROAR: Lions of the Kalahari” (which, my comments here notwithstanding, is a very worthy film to see). The story line revolves around an older lion and his harem who has fought for squatting rights at a water hole in the desert. Over the course of the film, a young lion comes and challenges the old lion for rights to his water and his women. In the beginning, the old lion emerges from their scrapes victorious…but eventually, the young lion perseveres and drives him away, out into the desert to die.

I know it’s the way nature works, and I know that Monty is doing what God made him to do, but I do worry about him. He’s a good cat, even if he is an attitude with fur most of the time.

The vet says that if his wounds are on his face, ears or front (as opposed to his butt), that means that he was the winner. And I do wonder what condition the other cat is in.

But I still wish that our old lion would learn the ways of peace…somehow.

June is always a big month for my family. My little sister was born on June 10th, my grandmother was born on June 9th, she and her husband were married back in 1947 (? I think?) on June 11th. Not to mention that my great-grandmother (my mother’s mother’s mother) was also born in June. Well, whether or not I have all the dates exactly right, the fact remains that many of my important people have and have had many important events during June.

This particular June, June 2005, my dear grandma Danielson turned 80. Betty June Danielson. Yeah, no kidding. Given that her husband just passed away in February of 2004, that her mother passed away during the fall of 2003 ( ! ) at the age of 106, it seemed fitting that the family have a great big bash to celebrate her landmark birthday. As my mother said to her cousins, “we’ve only seen each other at funerals lately. Why don’t you all come over for Mom’s birthday?”

Thus, the third week of June found Karen and myself in our trusty Honda CRV, tooling along the long road that is Interstate 80 to make 600 miles between Milford and Mendham go away. This time, however, we decided that we’d make a few forays into rural Pennsylvania along the way. As a matter of fact, most of PA both going and coming back was on little two lane highways. Having done my stint at college here at The University of Michigan Ann Arbor, I got well acquainted with doing the back and forth commute along Route 80. So well acquainted, in fact, that I would be just as happy to never drive its wide bitumen again.

Sadly, our overwhelming impression of PA during this time was of grand cities and lovely little well appointed towns whose industry had left them gathering dust, rust and the grime of history.

Grand old rail stations, steel mills, hotels, oil fields……..and vacant (more…)

Today, I’m sorry to report that I fell out of love with San Francisco. There is an angry vibe in this town that rivals Manhattan of the pre-Giuliani years. We came here expecting and hoping to enjoy ourselves – we have both heard enough good things about SF to start believing that it’s a veritable Shangri-la. Perhaps our expectations were too high? Perhaps we haven’t given it enough of a chance? Hard to tell.

Things started off well – we drove in, had a good time driving around the city – the hotel we reserved far exceeded our expectations (it’s sweet, quaint, staffed by kind and helpful people, fastidiously clean, perfectly located and wonder of wonders: affordable) – so it’s not the bad accomodations. Our dining experiences have been fantastic when we’ve elected to actually spend money – so it’s not bad food. The city is picturesque in its own way, but not nearly the paradise that the promo literature would have you believe.

Sadly, I think it comes down to the people.

It’s not uncommon to be walking down the street and hear a cel conversation that goes something like this: “How dare you speak to me like that?!”

The children that you do see are atrociously behaved.

Drivers in this city are worse, if anything, than advertised. And that’s saying something. The Lonely Planet we bought says that we should take the time to do some Zen preparations before venturing out to drive in SF (this is not a joke). That doesn’t help you when you go out to walk, though – you really have to watch yourself to not get run over. And then you’re just as likely to get flipped off and cussed out for being in the right in a crosswalk…

There is a level of anger boiling here that defies simple description. Perhaps it has something to do with GWB getting a second term. Perhaps it has something to do with the gay marriage amendments getting soundly trounced. I’ve been trying to get my arms around this since I’ve been here, and I wonder if it has something to do with privelege.

Karen and I were walking around in a farmers’ market this morning in a well-traveled part of the city. The way people look at you and treat you is remarkable – several times I thought that I had become doggie doo that someone had stepped into – other times I’ve been run into by pedestrians – not even so much as a rueful or apologetic look – nothing even approaching an apology. When I thank someone for service in a restaurant, or just for answering a question, they pretty much haven’t a clue what to do with my courtesy.

What’s happening here?

As I was walking around this market this morning, I remember seeing perfectly coifed men and women, wearing beautiful clothes – the men are perfectly moisturized, the women are perfectly made-up……..and I remember thinking that there is probably more money walking around on the faces of these people in this market than some third-world countries have for their entire monthly GDP.

There is a curious impotence that comes to rich liberals. It’s a combination of being able to see the problems (of which there are admittedly many) of the world we live in, but not having anything approaching a coherent strategy or set of answers to answer the rampaging Republicans. So, there is no plan, and there is no willingness to lift a finger to address the issues. I want more social programs from the government, but I don’t want to pay more taxes. I want better environmental responsibility, but I’m not willing to get rid of my Lexus SUV for something more efficient….

This was my primary critique of the John Kerry run for the Presidency. It’s not enough to proclaim “anyone but Bush”. While we may agree with the sentiment, there needs to be an alternative that captures the hearts and minds of voting men and women in America. It’s “the vision thing”. Sadly, oddly, GWB has it (as Bill Clinton did before him) and John F Kerry did/does not.

But back to SF. We took the “F Line” up to the “Castro district” today. The “F Line” is the line of restored trolley cars that runs from the Fisherman’s Wharf up Market Street. “Castro” is the gay district here in SF. It’s no exaggeration to say that it’s the epicenter of gay activism in America. Both Karen and I expected an experience kind of like South Beach in Miami FL – that is, happy gay folk celebrating their gay-ness. What we actually saw was a great deal of commentary on gay porn (in shops, magazines, news rags, cinemas, etc.), and gay folk holding hands. We did NOT feel safe, I’m sad to report.

I know, by now you’re probably pissed at me, saying that I haven’t given the place enough time to grow on me. Maybe you’re right. But I can tell you this: I’ve been to a lot of cities in my life, both here in the states and in Europe and Asia. I’ve not felt this unsafe in a place since my early teen trips to Manhattan in the early to mid 1980s.

We’ve still got a couple of days here. Perhaps things will change.