Mr. S-for-Scrooge deigns to emerge from his hiding place within the tree to protect the presents.

And, as predicted, Loki manifests an uncomfortable amount of interest in the lights.

Ah yes, Charlie Brown in full effect here.

Well hi there all you visitors from Canada, France, Germany, Italy, and Japan. I hope you’re entertained.

So I was driving home from work today and as I went down the Caspar grade, I remembered freshman year, when we hauled that fallen tree out of the ditch, strapped it to Jim’s truck, and turned it into a school Christmas Tree. And this, in turn, reminded me of an imminent crisis: it is Smith tradition to have the tree up before December first. Which means, kids, that tomorrow is the day. As those aquainted with me know, I have a knack for picking the Charlie Brown Christmas tree–it always looks fine on the lot, and then when I get it home no matter how I trim it it ends up crooked. I am determined that this year, my tree shall be perfect! Beautifully symmetrical, elegantly formed, a sleek pillar of fir reaching for the ceiling. No longer will I have a tree which lists pathetically to one side or must be strapped to the furniture to keep it from tipping over! This is the year! The tree will be perfect! Especially since I’ve done most of my shopping already, I need to get a tree to stick my presents under, stat.

I’m thinking plain multicoloured lights this year. As anyone with cats know, any sort of ornamentation beyond that is playing with fire. However, given Loki’s obsession with anything that lights up, we still may be in trouble.

[Christmas Trees]

I got outside of this for lunch. That unappetizing stuff that looks like jizz is actually warmed goat cheese, and was the yummy.

[food]

Given my obsession with food, I think it’s time to have a talk about lunch. In the oven, right now, a halved acorn squash is being roasted, along with some garlic. The plan is for forty minutes of roasting upside down in a pan with 1/4 inch water, followed by an additional five minutes of roasting, flipped, drizzled in olive oil with a hint of brown sugar. And then the garlic, soft and squishy, will be sqeezed into the inside for service.

As a side plate, mashed yukon gold potatoes with kale and a healthy dose of brown sugar. Roasted brussels sprouts may accompany. I haven’t made a firm decision yet.

More people should eat good food, I say.

[food]

So, I’m up in the middle of the night, as usual, after a shitty day at work, and I want to talk to you about pirates.

Now, I know what you’re thinking.

“Pirates? Like Johnny Depp in the superb feature film, Pirates of the Caribbean? Those pirates? Pirates rock! Yeah!”

Well, my current reading says otherwise. I knew that maritime piracy was still an issue, vaguely, but John Burnett has made it a reality for me. He was pirated on his sailboat in southeast asia and his reaction to the experience, very sensibly, was to research piracy in depth. What he discovered is that international shipping is plagued with piracy. Which is not really tracked, because it’s often not reported. There is an organization that investigates piracy, but it is underfunded. It also has no real power, because most cases of piracy occur in international waters, where no one really has jurisdiction. It’s a free for all out there–there are also commando organizations that will go rescue your ship if it is overtaken by pirates–assuming you know that pirates have hijacked it, and you know where your ship, you know, is. A lot of times, ships simply…disappear. Companies have a cold and hard economic view about investigating piracy, and they assess their need to apprehend the culprits on a descending scale–contents of the ship, value of the ship, and, oh yeah, the crew.

The bulk of the book is about his trip on a Very Large Crude Carrier (VLCC) which he accompanied while it shipped oil in the Indian Ocean, because he was curious about the measures being taken to deflect piracy. He bounces back and forth in time rather a lot, from interviews with people in paramilitary organizations to UN officials to musing on the economic miseries of Southeast Asia.

A few words about VLCCs. They are, as the name suggests, very large. So large, in fact, that they cannot dock in most ports, and rendezvous with smaller oil tankers in open waters to exchange their dead dinosaur payload. Supertankers are huge. If one goes, the Exxon-Valdez would look like peanuts. Think Empire State Building huge. Think the biggest man made thing you have ever seen. Their stopping distance is measured in miles.

So anyway. Here our pal John is, on a VLCC belonging to an undisclosed oil company. Despite the size, the ship is so automated that the crew is small–about 17 people. The first thing he learns is that VLCCs are designed for carrying oil, not deterring pirates. Apparently, despite their epic size, they would be insanely easy to board and take over. Their automated nature might even prevent them from crashing into anything for twenty minutes or so. That’s a good thing. If a supertanker crashed into anything, it would result in an utter and probably unsalvageable disaster. VLCCs are slow. They are hard to secure. They are filled with oil. The best anti-pirate device most of them have is fire hoses. And lights.

The thing about piracy is–pirates use small, highly rapid boats to attack. Most of them are young, and most of them are poor. They are not looking to steal oil. They are looking for cash and goods. However, they are motivated by desparation. Sailboats and the like make easy targets, especially given the expensive equipment that is often aboard. Tankers make lucrative targets because large amounts of money are often kept in the safe. In general, company policy about pirates is: let them take whatever they want, don’t fight them, and save the ship if you can. With VLCCs, this is extremely important, because of the above mentioned unfathomable ecological disaster. There’s also the thought which has recently occurred to the sorts of people who think about these things, and that is this: terrorists could totally hijack a supertanker and threaten to blow it up near a major city or fishery. Kaboom. Economic disaster. Rock on Chicago.

Not fighting pirates appears to be a crucial thing. Because, you see, pirates are often better armed than the ships they attack. This is partially because many of them belong to the military. Yes, that’s right. In Indonesia especially, apparently, sailors are sent out by their superiors and ordered to return with money or goods if they want promotion. So they’ve got powerboats, they’ve got AK47s, and they’ve got poverty. A volatile mix, if you ask me. People are killed by pirates every day because they made unwise decisions, if we are to believe Mr. John. And the state of the world’s economy is being threatened by piracy, not because it’s some huge organized deal, or because pirates are that savvy, but because they could choose to hijack the wrong oil tanker and cause it to blow up.

I’m not really sure what the point or mission of his book is, really. I mean, sure, he’s raising pirate awareness. But so far he hasn’t offered any suggestions on ways to end piracy. Like…I don’t know…making the third world a less shitty place to live for a greater percentage of its inhabitants. Or, uh, not using so much oil. Still, it’s interesting reading. In a world where piracy seems like a myth, or something to idolize, he’s making a good point. Even pirates of yore weren’t very cool guys, when you think about it. But modern day pirates are alive and real, and they will fuck you up. Big time.

So, kids, pirates aren’t cool.

[pirates]

1. I hate working.

No, I really do. I know that most adults are supposed to be tired of working and all jaded and stuff. But I. Hate. Working. Thinking about going to work makes me want to cry. I loathe every aspect, and the whole idea, of working. I’ve thought about going on SSI so that I could avoid working permanently, but it’s too smarmy for me. Damn my morals. You see, the thing is, all I want to do is sit at home and read for the rest of my life. And eat. I want a little cottage in the woods somewhere where I can sometimes have friends over, and be misanthropic the rest of the time in peace.

My father always gives me shit and says I have champagne tastes and a beer budget. Well, damnit, champagne has to come from somewhere, maybe I should just start growing my own.

2. I have a secret Apple fetish.

So why am I gravitating towards the new iMac G5? This is tantamount to treason in my world. It’s like a fundamentalist Moslem drinking alcohol. It’s like a Mormon having premarital sex. It’s like…it’s a complete shift in my paradigm. If anyone was to find out about this secret lust, this filthy fantasy, I would be mocked. I’ve always been the first one to mention at any provocation my loathing for all that is Apple, and here I am surreptitiously browsing for one. (Alt+Tab-ing if needed, of course.) I’m even considering calling a former co-worker who used to work for Apple, and who therefore gets a lifetime discount, to find out if, you know, she could maybe feed my addiction. I feel like I’m trying to find crack.

What would I do with a mac if I got one? I could never confess to owning it. I would have to hide it in the closet at all times, the risk of someone coming over and seeing it would be too great. I see now how easy it is for the republicans to paint Kerry black for flip-flopping. Can I be as gutsy as Kerry and admit that I was wrong? Does Apple offer some sort of promotional discount to the switchers, or do we just get a cool ad campaign? I just don’t know what to do with myself here. I’m sleeping with the enemy, you see.

All of this, of course, imagining that I had the money to buy a new computer. So maybe money didn’t solve my problems, because, if it did, FedEx would be loading my brand new twenty inch iMac G5 into a truck right now for delivery. And then I would be stuck in an immense quandry indeed.

3. I cry when I get pissed off, and that makes me more pissed off so I cry some more, and then people ask me what’s wrong, and that pisses me off, so I cry some more. So it’s a never ending chain of the crying. And I hate it. In fact, I feel myself getting a little pissed off right now just thinking about it. Crying is shitty. It is such a fucking CHICK thing to do.

4. I spend way too much time looking at kittenwar.

[confessions]

A few words about parades. For starters, I adore them. Parades are the most wonderful thing on earth. However, in recent years, I have noticed a decline in parade quality. Despite the gratifying appearance of fire trucks, nifty rescue vehicles, men in uniform, and scantily clan women, parade imagination seems to be lacking lately. Alas, no more half naked hula girls on the Elk fire truck. The women’s drill team, who marched with makitas and black and deckers, steps out no more. The politics used to be wittier, the floats dizzying, the light sweeter. Woe.

And the best thing about the Fort Bragg parades is that the parade route always goes directly in front of my house, so I can sit on the roof over the porch and survey the sights far from the madding crowd.

The major parading events of the year are:

Mendo Fourth of July
Festa (September)
Paul Bunyan Days (September)
The Lighted Truck Parade (December)

Mendo Fourth of July is a long running tradition. I have a firm policy of never going to work on the fourth of July because I go to Mendocino to watch the parade, which always starts at noon. Usual players in the parade include–The All Susan Marching Band, Lick Bush in (year), Larry Fuente’s Cadillac, the Flynn Creek Circus, and other assorted “very Mendocino” floats. Last year, for example, a man wheeled a cart full of paper mache dead people while ringing a bell and dolorously calling “bring out your dead.” Politicians usually make a token appearance in open cadillacs festooned with red, white, and blue. The Eileen Hawthorne Fund/Mendocino Coast Humane Society have a spay/neuter float. The army/navy recruited insists on entering the parade and you can follow his progress with the “boos.” One memorable year, the Democrats followed hard on the Republicans (entries 50 and 49, respectively, as I recall), and an argument boiled over on Lansing. The parade is followed by a grand party at Friendship park, where an alarming amount of beer and sushi is served. I usually repair to big river beach to be roundly beated at ultimate frisbee and get sunburned. Oddly, the Petaluma Poultry Pluckers no longer make an appearance. Perhaps they have been outsourced. The above image is the sort of thing often seen at the Mendo parade.

Festa parade is put on by the Portugese community in Fort Bragg. It commorates Catholicism, Monarchy, and other outdated traditions. It’s also great fun. Queens and princesses are crowned, and march down the street in elaborate robes with trains. Portugese halls from all over Northern California represent. It’s good times. The police escort them on their meandering path through town, and they return several hours later looking like wilted cupcakes, trailing flowers through the streets. Citizens always seem slightly confused by festa, as it is not announced or advertised. It just is. On the way out, the princesses seem so much…fresher…and into the parade as an idea.

Paul Bunyan Days is known as Labour Day in other parts of the world. Paul and Babe (the blue ox of fame) visit Fort Bragg for one memorable, tourist laden weekend. The parade has much more of a, say, shall we call…hickish flavour. Much more trick riding (including, this year, some amazinginly talented Mexican men and their horses), much more “rah rah USA” sort of stuff, Paul and Babe, of course, and a larger representation of the local capitalists. (Come to Canclini’s! Eat at Cowlick’s! Etc). Paul Bunyan days is a rompin’ good time for all involved. The Humboldt State Marching Lumberjacks also make a regular appearance, and that is a good thing. Please note that the above tank is going the wrong way on a one way street.

The lighted truck parade is held at the annual lighting of the tree. It consists of…lighted trucks. Usually the few remaining lumber companies put on a showing, and any company with any sort of truck (Harvest Market, Thanksgiving Coffee, Roundman’s, etc) also musters an effort of sorts. The logging trucks, of course, always have the coolest floats. The lighted truck parade is usually also freezing cold, because it is held at night, the better to see the lights with, my dear. The above confection was created by Philbrick Logging.

[parades]
[Fort Bragg]
[Mendocino]

Thanksgiving was lovely, thank you for asking. We had turkey and mashed potatoes and curried yams and lumpia and some sort of asian green bean concoction and roasted chestnuts and stuffing and cranberry sauce and roasted delicata squash. Ah, food.

[Thanksgiving]