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An Inconvenient Idea

Stack of Books

It is an unfortunate truth that inspiration usually strikes when you are least able to act upon it. The perfect solution to your living room furniture arrangement comes when you are away on holiday. The critical piece of a work problem comes when you are in the shower.

Today, I got an idea for a new story fifteen minutes before I had to be at work.

I’d just spent the holiday week relaxing, watching movies, streaming a new (to us) series, cooking a big meal of crab cioppino for friends, and puttering in the garage. During that time, my writer’s mind was a blank (aside from pangs of guilt over not working on my novel).

All week, nothing, and then this morning, just as I was preparing to get up and get back to the work-a-day monkey-boy grunt-job, bam.

I hate that.

Excuse me while I scribble down some notes…

k

Conflicted in Seattle

When it comes to snow, Seattle is conflicted.

We love it. We hate it.

And tomorrow, we’re gonna get it, or so says Cliff Mass, a scholar of weather in the Pacific Northwest.

Snow in Seattle is rare and unpredictable. It’s also a huge pain in the ass, precisely because it is so rare and unpredictable. We don’t have “snow storms” in Seattle; we have “snow events.” Incoming storms are always rain storms that freeze up on arrival. Conditions have to be just so before the white stuff falls, and tomorrow, it looks like a sure thing.

When snow does fall, Seattle takes on a different character. People look up more. Spirits lift. I see more smiles on the faces I pass on the street. Old buildings look newer and new buildings look older, as if the entire city has shifted to some mid-20th century convergence point. New sounds fill the streets–crunching footsteps, creaking tires–while other sounds are muffled.

Snow in Seattle is an excuse. Schools open late or close down for the duration. People “work from home” or head home early “to beat the traffic.” Metro buses chain up, giving us the modern equivalent to sleigh bells as they jangle along their routes. News teams put on their yellow weather jackets and stand on street corners to report, or drive around in cars with dash-cams to show us that yes, indeed, snow is falling in Seattle.

We love it!

Until we don’t.

Snow in Seattle is not all Currier and Ives. We have hills–big hills–and it doesn’t take much snow to make some of them impassable. One favorite spot for news crews is at the foot of Queen Anne Hill looking up the counterbalance, where the snow creates a game of bumper cars on an inclined plane for any driver so foolish as to venture on the slick hillside. Our snowplows, such as they are, only hit the arterials, leaving side streets covered in snow and ice. In serious events, freeway shoulders are littered with vehicles wounded or abandoned. 

By and large, the only Seattleites who drive in the snow are those who don’t know how. Those who do know how to drive in the snow know that the real danger is not the snow. It’s the idiots in 4WD SUVs who are going too fast (because they have 4WD), and so we stay off the roads and let the idiots Darwin it out on the unplowed streets.

Luckily, snow in Seattle is usually short-lived. Whatever falls overnight has melted off the roadways by noon and is gone by the next morning. Sure, it might screw up a commute or two, might mess with your schedule as you deal with the kids for an extra 2 hours before their school’s late start, but overall, it’s nice, polite, and beautiful while it lasts.

Tomorrow will be one of those days (or so says Cliff).

I’m lucky. I work from home on Fridays, and tomorrow I’m logging off early to start a super-long holiday weekend. If the snow lasts a bit, I’ll be able to go out for a drive in the white-clad neighborhoods. Perhaps I’ll stop, get out, take a few crunching steps in the pristine snow, smile at a stranger and wish them happy holidays.

Maybe it’ll be you.

I wish you all a pleasant holiday week, and a safe and happy new year.

k

The last one is gone.

Yesterday, the last of my Deities of Cinema, Peter O’Toole, passed away at the age of 81.

Born on an unknown date in an unknown location, he was the son of a Scottish nurse and an Irish bookie who made their way through the underclass of war-torn Britain. O’Toole came from little, but followed his nose and his talent, and eventually built a larger-than-life-sized persona to match his larger-than-life-sized career. He was a colossus in a profession filled with stars and showed himself able to handle anything from farcical comedy to tragic drama to subtle, supporting roles. He could be urbane, crude, boisterous, bombastic, kind, loving, cruel, imperious, or callow as the role required, and he gave us iconic performances as Lawrence, Lord Jim, a young Henry II (Becket), an elder Henry II (The Lion in Winter), Mr. Chips, Don Quixote, Alan Swann, and dozens of others.

There are other great actors alive in the world today; this cannot be denied. But there are no more giants. The industry has changed, and it can no longer contain the type of personality O’Toole presented to us.

Working with O’Toole during the filming of King Ralph, John Goodman, asked the revered actor if he might borrow an ashtray.

O’Toole flicked his cigar ash on the floor.

“Make the world your ashtray, my boy.”

The last one is gone.

k

Hit & Miss

The British television industry has a tradition of creating short-lived series. In America, a show may have 23 episodes in a season; in Britain, it is often only half that or, as fans of the recent Sherlock reboot well know, only three. In addition, the Brits will create a “series” that is only expected to live one, maybe two years. Where we Yanks will keep a show going well past its sell-by date, the Brits make a show, air it, and move on to the next idea, the next story.

Naturally, they have their long-standing staples like Coronation Street, East Enders, Top Gear, and Time Team (which sadly was canceled after two decades of wonderful programming), but by and large this “one-off” approach to television creates a more varied viewing landscape where, if you don’t like a show, just wait a month or two and something new will be on.

And so, British television will often take risks that would give American television execs apoplexy.

Hit & Miss is a perfect example. Continue Reading »

Blowing a Gasket

It’s hard not to anthropomorphize.

My lawnmower is cranky and only likes to start if I tip it on its nose when I prime the engine. I have often described my computers as malevolent or downright evil. I’ve named every car I’ve ever owned, and have been known to plead, cajole, and beg, as if my entreaties will urge the vehicle on that one last mile to the gas station.

It’s all nonsense, of course. My conversations with inanimate objects do nothing except perhaps answer an inner echo from our pre-industrial heritage, when horses, donkeys, and oxen were our “engines,” and talking to them did make a difference.

Still, it’s hard not to anthropomorphize. Continue Reading »

Though they show no particular affinity for me, I love dogs.

At my core, I’m a cat person, but I adore the dogness of dogs and the unique relationship they can have with humans. And though it may sound strange, I love the humanity of dogs, their willingness to love us and to trust us (whether we deserve it or not).

It is not a surprise, therefore, that I enjoyed Garth Stein’s The Art of Racing in the Rain. It’s told by a dog. It takes place in Seattle.

What is a surprise is how much I enjoyed it.

Seriously. This book is now on my Top Five list. As a reader, I loved it. As a writer, it taught me some lessons I’m ready to learn. Continue Reading »

1962 TR3B

I miss Erector Sets. I blame my car.

Pepper (or Peppah-Girl as my Hawaiian friends call her) came home last week and since then I’ve been somewhat…preoccupied. She was in the shop for a loooong, long time, but it was necessary. I let the pros fix all the critical issues (like steering and brakes and such) and left the small, non-crucial items for myself.

There are many things I like about this car, but one thing that pleases me most is her simplicity. Pepper is a decidedly low-tech vehicle. She has a tractor’s engine (seriously…the engine Triumph used was designed for tractors) and simple hydraulics for brake and clutch. The steering is unpowered, requiring a good deal of brute force to turn the wheels (especially when stopped). One part of the engine is actually made of glass, and parts of the body are supported by pieces of wood.

All this pleases me greatly.

It’s been a long time since I worked on a car. I never really got into the serious gear-head stuff like pistons and differentials and transmissions, but the things I was doing this weekend were well within my capabilities. I fixed some wiring, replaced dashboard knobs, installed a grab bar and lap belts, swapped the old locks for new ones I have keys for, and trouble-shot a tail light problem. These were all–even drilling holes for the lap belt anchors–pretty straightforward tasks and while I was working on these fixes, I felt like a kid again.

Growing up, one of my favorite toys was my Erector Set. The set I had wasn’t anything like today’s versions. Almost everything in it was made of metal, not plastic. It had actual nuts and bolts, not thumbscrews and snap-together pieces. The metal beams and angle brackets were somewhat sharp at the edges, the set had no specialized parts, and the instructions were basically just pictures of what you might want to build instead of step by step Ikea-esque pictograms. The biggest difference, though, was that you could build anything, not just the one or two things for which the set was designed.

And build anything, I did.

I built the cranes and helicopters pictured in the booklet. I built skyscraper superstructures with playing card walls. I built things that weren’t anything at all, but that pleased my eye or used every piece in the set (or both). The Erector Set of my youth taught me about load strength, cross- and angle-bracing, lock-nuts, pulleys, and a hundred other practical attributes of construction. Mostly, though, the set taught me not to be afraid of working with my hands. Later, with this grounding in the basics, I taught myself household repair, woodworking, cabinetry, watch repair, and yes, car maintenance.

So, this afternoon, as I disassemble Pepper’s door panels to gain access to the door locks, it will be like I’m back in the old house on Briarwood Drive, sitting cross-legged on the linoleum, playing.

k