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Monthly Archives: September 2024

Tres Días en Baja

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The Port of Ensenada, Mexico

I will not be posting again until Friday, when I return from three days in Ensenada, Baja California. Early tomorrow, I will be driving down to the San Ysidro border crossing and meeting my brother there. (He will be coming down from Palm Desert in the Coachella Valley.) At that point, I will hand over the wheel to Dan, who will drive us in my car down to Ensenada, which is something like an hour’s drive south of the border.

Although Ensenada is a major cruise port, we will not have to fight our way past boat people until 8 AM Thursday, when the USS Navigator of the Seas will begin disgorging 3,100 passengers right around the tiome we will be heading back to the border.

Why are we going to Ensenada? Why, for the fish tacos, of course. The city has a reputation for the best taco carts in Mexico, especially where seafood is concerned. When I return home, I expect to have developed gills to aid in my breathing.

Icelandic Mystery

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The Town of Akranes, Setting for Eva Björg Ægisdottir’s Novels

It’s difficult to think of Iceland as a “scene of the crime” involving murder. The entire nation has a population under 400,000, with approximately half living in or near the capital of Reykjavík. Yet I know of three mystery authors who write about more Icelandic murders than could have occurred within the last half century..

The writers, in the order that I discovered them, are:

  • Arnaldur Indriðason
  • Yrsa Siguðardottir (who also writes children’s books)
  • Eva Björg Ægisdottir

All three are excellent writers. Below are my favorites among their works:

  • Hypothermia and Reykjavík Nights by Arnaldur Indriðason
  • Ashes to Dust and My Soul to Take by Yrsa Siguðardottir
  • Girls Who Lie and Night Shadows by Eva Björg Ægisdottir

These are just some of my favorites, but I haven’t read a single stinker by any of these authors.

Shakespeare on Lust

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William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 129 is one of those poems which I have read again and again over the decades. The subject is lust, a frequent topic in the Bard’s poems and plays. When I first encountered it, I thought it was a bit on the ugly side; but as time went on, I began to see a certain beauty in it. Tell me what you think of it.

Th’ expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjured, murd’rous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,
Enjoyed no sooner but despisèd straight,
Past reason hunted; and, no sooner had
Past reason hated as a swallowed bait
On purpose laid to make the taker mad;
Mad in pursuit and in possession so,
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

Winning

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I have never been one of those smiley-faced individuals who always have to be on the winning side. It’s even got me into trouble when I was a Director of Corporate Communications for a computer software company. I always saw things from both sides, unlike those corporate marionettes who advertise “ask your doctor” pharmaceuticals on television.

It’s probably due to my Hungarian ancestry. Hungary was on one of the two main invasion paths from Asia into Europe (the other being Poland). I have perhaps an ancestral memory that pretending to have happy thoughts will not prevent Attila and Genghis Khan from their accustomed pattern of rapine, looting, and murder.

Winning is nice when it happens, but it’s not a permanent condition. After all, we all will eventually sicken and die. If you live long enough, your skin will resemble the craters of the moon; and your days will be accompanied by bouts of pain and even suffering. Oh, and you can forget right off about drawing admiring glances from hot young women. Unless you pay them well.

So if your days, like mine, are a strange mix of winning and losing, you can find some fleeting happiness in small pleasures. In my retirement years, I feel gratified in not having to spend 40+ hours a week dancing to the tune of some megalomaniacal boss, of which I have had several. I read books; I cook; I do chess problems; I travel when I can. Maybe that’s as close to winning as one can get in this life.

Standing Tall at the Podium

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Height Is the Only Advantage for This Mental Midget

Today I watched the debate between Vice President Kamala Harris and her opponent. There couldn’t possibly be two candidates who were more different from each other.

Trump’s only advantage is that he is almost a foot taller than Harris, and America is a country which tends to over-reward candidates who are tall. I myself am of medium height (5 feet 8 inches, or 1.75 meters), though because of a pituitary tumor I had from an early age, I was the shortest male in class throughout my elementary school years. It was only after the tumor was removed at age 21 that I grew to my present height.

There have been statistics to the effect that greater than average height is a clear advantage in politics, business, and wooing. My own thinking is that the height advantage, while real, is no guarantee of success.

At today’s presidential debate, it was Kamala Harris who stood tall. She was quick to react, made frequent eye contact, and even began by going to Trump’s podium and shaking his hand, which no doubt surprised the ex-president to no end. Trump, on the other hand, looked like the grumpy old man that he is, wanting to chase all the darned kids off his lawn, and speaking with a cold, constipated rage that made me think we probably wouldn’t live out his term if elected.

The Heat Wave Continues

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Today was the fourth (or was it the fifth?) day of a brutal heat wave. I haven’t been able to accomplish much, and I refuse to cook any meals, as long as my living quarters resemble a sweat lodge.

If there are still any climate change deniers out there, I invite them to ascend a podium in the middle of the afternoon wearing a winter coat and explain their position in a hours-long speech without dropping dead.

My Cities: Reykjavík

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Street Scene in Iceland’s Capital City

It’s not a terribly large city, only about 140,000 residents as of 2023. But when you add in the outskirts, it becomes 248,000, more than half the population of the entire island. It’s one of the most expensive cities in Europe, but one of the most approachable.

No, you don’t have to speak Icelandic—a version of medieval Norse—to understand the people, most of whom under the age of 80 speak English. One of the most beloved eating places in town is the hot dog stand pictured below:

Bææjarins Beztu Pylsur: The City’s Best Sausages

Its most famous customer was Bill Clinton, who famously asked for a hot dog with mustard only. To this day, if you order a Clinton at BBP, that’s what you get. I’d rather order the works, which include mustard, remoulade sauce, ketchup, raw onion, and fried onions.

If you like American fast food, you will find plenty of it not only in Reykjavík but around the island as well. That includes pizza, hamburgers, and hot dogs (pylsur), to name a few. There’s no McDonalds or Starbucks, but you will find Domino’s and Subway.

Where Are All the Skyscrapers?

Above is a view of central Reykjavík from a boat on a harbor puffin cruise. You can walk the heart of the city from one end to the other in about forty minutes. But I’ll bet you can’t do it without stopping a dozen places for coffee, books, souvenirs, ice cream, or beer.

I’ve been to Iceland in 2001 and 2013. I hope I can visit it again. It’s fun. It’s low key. And the fish is effing fantastic.

Blazing Hot Sun

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Hot! Hot !! Hot!!!

It had to happen eventually: the wind suddenly started coming from the east and blowing the hot air of the desert all through Southern California, even by the coast where we are usually protected by the Marine Layer. Well, now there is no Marine Layer. Only the beginnings of a nasty Santa Ana Wind that makes L.A. about as comfortable as the Mohave Desert.

Because I live in an apartment building that was built around the time I was born, before there was the slightest hint of global warming, we have no insulation in the walls and ceiling. That means the apartment gets super hot and stays that way until the wee hours of the morning.

Today I have gone through three trays of ice cubes fixing iced water and iced tea for me. I was going to cook Spanish Rice for dinner, but then I thought, “To hell with it! No way am I going to make the kitchen hotter than it already is.” Instead, Martine and I scrounged around for what we had lying around in the pantry and in the refrigerator.

As is usual with these Santa Ana Winds, they always last longer than predicted. To give you a feeling for what life is like under these conditions, just read the opening of Raymond Chandler’s story “Red Wind”:

There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husband’s necks. Anything can happen. You can even get a full glass of beer at a cocktail lounge..

Word of the Day: Badmash

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Mug Shot of Arrested Man

I ran into the word while reading a book of Anita Desai’s short stories. The word is badmash, meaning a rogue, ruffian, or miscreant. While using Google Images, I ran into an interesting phenomenon. In our society, words like “rogue,” “ruffian,” or “miscreant” are brand names for products aimed at people who like to be seen as badasses, even if they aren’t.

That explains a lot about the secret dream life of the American male. Find a word which has had a mostly negative charge, and it suddenly becomes something desirable.

The word badmash is variously claimed to have Hindi, Urdu (Pakistani), Persian, or Arabic roots. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the word first came into the English language around 1840.

By the way, there is even an Indian restaurant in Los Angeles called Badmaash (a variant spelling). I guess it just goes to show you.

Greasy Kid Stuff?

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Wolverine Battles Deadpool … Again

Today, with a heat wave beginning, I decided to spend the afternoon in an air-conditioned movie theater watching Deadpool & Wolverine. Martine wisely decided not to join me.

There is something about the whole Marvel Cinematic Universe that is ultimately ho hum, regardless how much action there is. Do I really care about any of the characters? Well, no. Superheroes who can survive what appear to be fatal wounds are ultimately anti-dramatic. There are multiple attempts in the film to make the characters seem interesting, but they inevitably refer to something that was chronicled in some comic book or an earlier film that I hadn’t seen.

Such a pity these characters—apparently immortal—are so uninteresting. To me, anyhow. I heard members of the audience audibly checking boxes when some off-screen event was referred to. But to me, it was ultimately greasy kid stuff.

What sticks out in the Marvel Cinematic Universe is a world of unmotivated action lacking any emotion but unexplained rage in which the characters are just action figures.