[dovate.com] » 2008 » September
Did you know that Bowhead whales can live for more than 200 years? That was one of the many facts I heard for the second time in as many years during a whale watch up in Maine. I’ve seen whales from Alaska to Newfoundland and I never get tired of it. Those giant, gray swimming things with the fancy tails and the blowholes are just cool to see up close. And once you spot them spouting and splashing around nearby, the tourist boat and all of the people on it aren’t so annoying anymore. Whales. They unite.
My recent trip started with a Fin whale. Fins are second largest animal on the planet, being on average a few feet shorter than the Blue Whale. Then it was off to check out a group of Humpbacks. Made famous by Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, Humpbacks are smaller than fins, but just as impressive. There were 3 in all and our boat’s naturalist immediately identified them (by fin and tail pattern) as the whales Arrowhead, Asymmetry and Breakers. All 3 regularly hang out in Maine during their annual migration from regions north to their winter home down in Puerto Rico.
Also seen were a ton of Gannets, a really lost hummingbird (20 miles out to sea) and an exhausted Cedar Waxwing that landed on the boat and hitched a ride back to dry land. In closing, here are a ton of whale photos:
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The Fin Whale ^^^
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And Humpbacks ^^^
I was going to post a bunch of pictures of whales, but I decided to buy a block of gold, a shotgun and a bunch of boards for my windows instead. I was also kept up half the night by a mosquito loose in my room, so I’m not at peak energy. In lighter news, check out this picture from the blimp cam:
Maybe Andy Reid isn’t a damn idoit. Maybe the refs are. Either way, they really wanted to lose, so good for them. God damn Eagles.
30 second exposures turned to animation. Thanks to eric for sending me this link.
Light-Paint Piano Player from Ryan Cashman on Vimeo.
Today found me sitting bitch in the back of a Philly Car Share minivan with 2 Northern Irish political aides tapping away at their blackberries on either side of me. It was odd. All was part of a very brief tour of the city’s public art for Cabinet Minister Jeffrey Donaldson. The tour stopped at an Eisenhower Fellowship sponsored mural near City Hall, we all spilled out and I took some photos. A few minutes later, we piled back in and that was it.
Minister Donaldson was attentive and intelligent asking direct and relevant questions throughout the tour. He also knows how to model. For the 3 minutes the camera was pointed at him, he posed effortlessly. I guess it comes with the job. The visit and photos are to be folded into a press release and sent out to every paper in the UK/Ireland by this evening. So if anyone out there gets the Belfast Telegraph, send it to me when you’re done. Thanks.
Ravens, the larger more intelligent version of the already brainy common crow, are amazing birds. They play, they reason and they can even be trained to talk. In honor of the Autumn equinox, today is Raven Day at dovate.com. To honor the Raven itself, I bring you John James Audubon’s painting of a Raven, followed by Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Raven.” If you’ve never read it, read it. If you’ve read it before, or if you’ve just seen it on the Simpsons Halloween Special, read it again.
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THE RAVEN
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.’
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,’
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,’ said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you’ - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!’
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!’
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,’ said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.’
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.’
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,’ said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of “Never-nevermore.”‘
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.’
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,’ I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’
`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’
`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
The Federal Reserve continued to deny a bailout to more than 38,000,000 Americans living in poverty, characterizing such a move as “an unnecessary burden to hardworking taxpayers.” Calling the potential action by the Fed a “dangerous step towards a socialist system that we cannot afford to take.” President Bush condemned the measure in an address from his 1600 acre ranch in Crawford Texas. The President was joined by a chorus of lawmakers from both sides of the aisle who stood firmly against the proposal.
The news wasn’t a surprise to the teeming throngs of America’s poor. From the trailers scattered across the nation’s rural landscapes to the broken down homes clustered in its vast urban ghettos, the governments ambivalence is nothing new. “They’ve been ignoring us forever.” Said an anonymous poverty-stricken citizen.
Critics argue that a bailout would help stem the potentially devastating affects caused by the economic collapse of 40,000,000 Americans. “Crime, substance abuse, poor nutrition, lack of education. These aren’t just problems of a select few.” Spoke Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi. “The problems of the poor trickle up, touching people at all levels of our economy. From the small business owner who can’t find a skilled employee, to the CEO who has to move 50 miles from where he works, just to find a gated community where his family won’t have to encounter them. This is an issue that truly affects us all.”
The sentiment fell on deaf ears in both houses of Congress as well as the Executive Office. “It’s not the government’s job to protect the people of this country.” Spoke Kansas Senator Sam Brownback. “God helps those who help themselves.”
I grew up in a strange little corner of Philadelphia called Mt. Airy. If you’ve never been there, Mt. Airy is like a college town without a college… or students. Imagine West Philly if all the Penn kids died, all the poor people were middle class, all the gentrifiers were 30 years older and all the punks were trees. That’s Mt. Airy.
I love the place, but it also gets on my fucking nerves. Mt. Airy is full of people who wear socks with their sandals. Everyone power walks and eats lots of sprouts. Weaver’s Way co-op, (the beating, bloody heart of the neighborhood) is half Whole Foods and half dive-bar behind a strip club at last call. Levels of self satisfaction are nearly intolerable. There are a lot of Jewish people, but half of them are Buddhists. It’s full of lesbian couples with Chinese babies, men with gray pony tails, reiki practitioners and people wearing fanny packs.
It’s also one of the few, fairly well integrated, middle class neighborhoods in the city. While it’s not as well mixed as a place like Kensington, it’s also not desperately poor or terrifyingly violent. These qualities help it stand apart from other Philadelphia neighborhoods and make me use words like ’successful’ when I’m describing it.
But getting back to annoyances, residents tend hold the place up like some kind of Barack Obama Utopia. For example, look at this offensively self congratulatory, and annoyingly pompous passage from Wikipedia:
The area is recognized by many civil rights groups as one of the first successfully integrated neighborhoods in America. [5][6] Mount Airy continues to be the most well-blended neighborhood in Philadelphia, and was recently cited in Oprah Winfrey’s O magazine for its racial diversity and neighborhood appeal. The community has also been recognized by US News & World Report for racial harmony and balance.
…Also a Hare Krishna community is located on West Allens Lane. Mount Airy has long been the neighborhood of choice for the city’s elite African Americans…
Who the hell writes this shit? But anyway, the racial “harmony and balance” front, Mt. Airy does actually do a lot better than most places. It’s also got tons of kids and green space and is an all around great place to live if you have a kid or plan on making one.
But what’s the point of this post? I think there was one when I started, but I can’t seem to remember it. Why the hell does it have to have a point anyway? That’s all for now.
Last week I was contacted by CBS3 internet reporter (and former Miss Pennsylvania) Nicole Brewer about creating a site profile for the station. The webcast would chronicle the fascinating world of dovate.com and more specifically my bizarre obsession with the Toynbee tiles. Self-promoter that I am, I did 2 things:
1. I said yes.
2. I opened up the interview to fellow tile scholars Justin Duerr and Colin Smith.
In expanding and re-framing the story, I both diluted the whole free-advertising potential of the interview and made it more interesting. The story shifted from a boring site profile to an awesome story about the tiles… which as you know, I am unusually obsessive about.
For a couple of hours on Friday afternoon we stood on noisy center city streets expounding on the mystery of the tiles and looking generally weird. One friend who saw the video said that we looked like “quite a bunch” out there.
All in all, it was a fun experience. Nicole was great and I believe that she left with a genuine interest in all things Toynbee tile related. To see the video, visit Nicole’s site here:
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John McCain arrived at Reading Terminal Market today, to boisterous shouts of “Boo”, “O-BA-MA” and my personal favorite, “Fuck McCain.” The crowd swelled to a few dozen as curious shoppers wandered over to see what all the fuss was about.
I was one of the smattering of spectators. Without a crowd to get in the way, I caught a brief glimpse of McCain’s wrinkly little head as he emerged from his bus to shake hands with the proles. As everyone already knows, McCain is a short, elderly pompous looking little prick. Other than that, I’ve got no real insights into the visit.
After the sighting, I went to buy some bacon and McCain settled in for lunch at the Downhome Diner or something.
As I left some crazy looking dude was walking briskly towards McCain’s position muttering something about “he’s here. I know he’s here.” I hope that all turned out well.
In other news and to my surprise, I woke up this morning. Assuming the worst with that whole Hadron Collider activation I expected to have been sucked into the singularity of a black hole sometime around 3AM. Had that happened the newly dead molecules of my body would be converted into some sort of electromagnetic wave. That wave could then “watch” time beyond the event horizon as it appeared to accelerate. Before too long, (inside the hole time) I’d reach the singularity. From there, your guess is as good as mine.
Instead I woke up to my alarm, had the usual crazy day at work and missed the best opportunity I’ll probably ever have to give John McCain the finger. O’well.
I’m worried about my neighbor. The primaries are long since over. The convention has come and gone, but they still have a Hillary Clinton sign in their window. I’ve never seen anyone come or go from the house and I can only assume that they’re dead. They must have died sometime between March and June. I’m thinking of calling the police. I’m worried.
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In other news, I’m back in Philadelphia, the city with the most unrealized potential in the world. I was a little down on coming home until M brought me an amazing homegrown gift. She found it on the street. (translation below)
Here’s the translation:
MARY
MARY
MARY
MARY
MARY
(unreadable) Mary go to church pray in mind a few minutes a day. God said heaven is full of thrills of joy pleasure happiness forever.
GET OVERSEAS STAMPS
Just write on the Envelop to president of country (get overseas stamps) Russia Mosscow. Dont give your return address. God the father and Christ are begging only you the people of Philly. to send letters to Russia tell him to get out of Georgeer he wants to destroy America and all the beautiful snow whites. Get overseas stamps.
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I’m going to frame this and hang it right next to my Toynbee tile tar paper top, with car tire forged impression of the classic Toynbee tile message. It’s good to be home… or somethng.
Well vacation is over. Many photos were taken, much fun was had, food eaten, memories forged. My travels took me to the human colony known as “Canada.” I captured this photo on the surface of that strange and beautiful world:
But now work is back. Laundry has to be done, alarms need to be set and budgets have to be paid attention to. But as the people of the Canadian “Province” of “Quebec” would say: C’est la vie.
