It has been a very busy week. Last Thursday, the WGA Foundation hosted the screening of a new documentary film about writer Harlan Ellison. It is wonderful. I have no idea when it will actually be released to the public (there's some talk of filming Stephen King and a few other people) but there's some terrific footage with Robin Williams and Neil Gaiman. The historic footage, going back to the days when Harlan still had dark hair and a 28" waist, was well worth seeing. I still don't remember whether my first "in the same room" contact with Harlan was 1980 or six years earlier--I've got to check my negatives--but even in 1980 he was wiry and dark-haired. By 1989, when I photographed him for my Portrait Project, his hair was mostly white and he had grown heavier. His personality, however, had changed very little.
We initially stopped by the Hollywood landmark Pink's Hot Dogs, where Harlan was holding court to a group of about 20 people before the screening. His plan to arrive at the screening in his "Silver Ghost," a 1947 Packard, went awry when the machine began spewing smoke on the way down through Coldwater Canyon. His beloved car was towed away on a flat-bed and we became the ride for the rest of the evening. After the screening, the four of us joined Lisa Jane Persky and Andy Zax for dessert at a coffee shop on Beverly Boulevard. By the time we dropped Harlan and Susan off, it was way past their bed-time, and we did not get home until 2 a.m. For me it was a school night, and I did not get enough sleep.
Saturday night, we went over to Mogo's Mongolian Bar-b-q, Harlan's favorite dinner haunt along the Boulevard, to join him for dinner. Harlan had copped out, sending Susan down along with Josh Olsen (Oscar (R) nominated for scripting A History of Violence) to entertain the remainder of the folks who had come in from out of town for the documentary screening.
Sunday, we went for brunch with Steven Gould, author of Jumper, a sometimes banned book which will be released as a feature film next year. Steve was in from Albuquerque for the weekend because of "The Big Read" honoring Ray Bradbury. We picked him up at Union Station (where he had dropped off his rental car and was killing time until the 6:45 train departure home) and went up to Pasadena, which has a nice, community feel on a Sunday. It gave me an opportunity to window-shop at my favorite gift store, the Metropolitan Museum of Art Store. I was saved from buying an interesting watch with a moving gray-scale only because there was not one with an appropriate band length for my skinny wrist (probably the only skinny thing about me.) Steve picked up gifts for his wife and daughters. We also made a pilgrimage to The Container Store for my never-ending quest to bring order to the Wein-Valada mess.
I guess that's enough name-dropping for one post.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Six Degrees--or Less--of Separation
The tragedy Monday at Virginia Tech brings home the point of how close we can find ourselves to an event without realizing the connection.
In the 1990s we fell in love with a television series called "Home Front." It became one of those wonderful series which prompted articles entitled "The Best Television You Aren't Watching." My husband and I have subsequently become friends with the creators, Lynn Latham and husband Bernard L--uh(I can't spell it without looking it up and it's a joke on their screen credit as well.) One scene which has remained with me all those years was of a character saying you should never be more than three (I think it was three) phone calls from the President and, in the episode, put that to work.
At the time, Bill Clinton was president. His Vice-President was Al Gore. His cousin-by-marriage was my son's day-care provider when I lived in Vienna, Virginia. Three phone calls to the Oval Office. I used to belong to a women photographers group that also included Tipper Gore, so in a national emergency--or correct counting of votes in 2000--I might have cut the steps by one.
Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon raises this game to an art form (the University of Virginia, I think, has a computer program to make this even easier to play.) As it happens, My husband has direct contact with people the game only puts him at 2 or 3 degrees of closeness (Harlan Ellison and Hugh Jackman both come to mind.) On days like Monday, it becomes a reality of our shrinking world.
Christoper James Bishop, the professor of German, killed in the gunman's assault on the classrooms at Virginia Tech, is the son of Michael Bishop, an award winning science fiction author. Michael is one of many science fiction professionals I photographed for an on-going personal project and exhibit, beginning back in 1988. And, of course, I was the lawyer for the Science Fiction Writers of America for six years, so our paths would have crossed more than just through the photo session--such as at the Nebula Awards or the World Science Fiction Convention or the World Fantasy Convention. One degree of separation.
My heart goes out to Michael and his wife. In a post I saw earlier today on a list-serve of writers I am on, Michael Bishop let Walter Jon Williams know that a memorial fund would be set up at Virginia Tech in his son's honor. Any contribution, no matter how small, will be appreciated:
In the 1990s we fell in love with a television series called "Home Front." It became one of those wonderful series which prompted articles entitled "The Best Television You Aren't Watching." My husband and I have subsequently become friends with the creators, Lynn Latham and husband Bernard L--uh(I can't spell it without looking it up and it's a joke on their screen credit as well.) One scene which has remained with me all those years was of a character saying you should never be more than three (I think it was three) phone calls from the President and, in the episode, put that to work.
At the time, Bill Clinton was president. His Vice-President was Al Gore. His cousin-by-marriage was my son's day-care provider when I lived in Vienna, Virginia. Three phone calls to the Oval Office. I used to belong to a women photographers group that also included Tipper Gore, so in a national emergency--or correct counting of votes in 2000--I might have cut the steps by one.
Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon raises this game to an art form (the University of Virginia, I think, has a computer program to make this even easier to play.) As it happens, My husband has direct contact with people the game only puts him at 2 or 3 degrees of closeness (Harlan Ellison and Hugh Jackman both come to mind.) On days like Monday, it becomes a reality of our shrinking world.
Christoper James Bishop, the professor of German, killed in the gunman's assault on the classrooms at Virginia Tech, is the son of Michael Bishop, an award winning science fiction author. Michael is one of many science fiction professionals I photographed for an on-going personal project and exhibit, beginning back in 1988. And, of course, I was the lawyer for the Science Fiction Writers of America for six years, so our paths would have crossed more than just through the photo session--such as at the Nebula Awards or the World Science Fiction Convention or the World Fantasy Convention. One degree of separation.
My heart goes out to Michael and his wife. In a post I saw earlier today on a list-serve of writers I am on, Michael Bishop let Walter Jon Williams know that a memorial fund would be set up at Virginia Tech in his son's honor. Any contribution, no matter how small, will be appreciated:
Donations may be made payable to the Virginia Tech
Foundation for the Jamie Bishop Scholarship
(for German Majors):
Virginia Tech Foundation
University Development
902 Prices Fork Road
Blacksburg, VA 24061
Monday, April 9, 2007
Food, Glorious Food
We spent Friday night gaming at the apartment of J. Keith Van Straaten, former host of "Beat the Geeks" and the live, on-stage version of "What's My Line" which ran several seasons at the Acme Theatre on La Brea. J. Keith's been in New York for the past few months and dropped back here for about a week.
I spent time talking with the delightful Tory Davis, whom I had seen at previous J. Keith parties but whose name I did not remember. The topic of food (starting with cheeses) became common ground. Tory's blog, The Way to Eat, was my first stop this morning and you should check it out. Not only does she write nicely about food, she's a pretty good food photographer as well.
Back in the days when I was a full-time photographer in the greater Washington, D.C. area, some of my favorite assignments were food shoots. Not only was there wonderful stuff for visuals, you also usually got to eat afterwards. For the Washington Post, I photographed food classes (once watching someone make a smaller version of the timbale I later saw in "Big Night"), food competitions (the French chefs from the best French restaurants competed against each other for a trip to a cooking competition in Europe--a pre-Iron Chef evening if I ever spent one), and various other food-related events.
I photographed the late, great Jean-Louis Palladin several times, my favorite being the day he wound up in the wrong race at a "taste of Washington" event. He finished last, but he did finish. I never ate at his famous restaurant at the Watergate, but I did get to sample his food that day and at an evening where some of the great chefs of the world gathered in D.C. I don't know what he was like to work for, but he was an absolutely charming individual and recognized me when I would show up to take his picture. (Here is a link to the Jean-Louis Palladin Foundation.)
Many of the food shoots I did were with or for Phyllis C. Richman, then the food critic for the Washington Post. She was fun to work with and my goal is to have as many cookbooks in my collection as she had in her office at the Post. One day, while I was working at the photo department, she came in and said something about The Russian Tea Room. I mentioned that my then husband had proposed to me there. The article she wrote started with something like "Everyone has a story about The Russian Tea Room," and the proposal was mentioned in passing. I accompanied Phyllis to two of the events where I photographed Jean-Louis. I have no idea how Phyllis disguised herself to do reviews since she seemed to know everyone in food in Washington.
In the summer of 1985, after I had stopped freelancing regularly for the Post's photo department, I went off to Italy for a two-week workshop in food photography. The instructor was Aldo Tutino, who had photographed much of the food for the Time-Life cookbook series. Aldo was a native of a city near Naples (Positano, I think), but he and his family lived in Alexandria, Virginia and had purchased a retirement home near a small town called Vernasca in Emilia-Romagna, one of the great food regions of Italy. (Is there any region of Italy which is not a great food region?) Aldo decided to give teaching photography a whirl and I was one of five students to attend his first workshop.
I don't remember much about the other students, except Gail, who was the chief photographer for Marriott Corp. and an acquaintance of mine in the D.C. photo community. She and I traveled to Italy together on the flight from hell--four hours on the tarmac in New York because of storms--and she gave me advice on where to shop for jewelry when I went on to Florence (Quaglia & Forte.) Another photographer was also from the D.C. area and the other two were from greater New York City.
We worked in large format--4 x 5 transparencies--but there were plenty of opportunities to shoot 35 mm as well. For some of the projects we went off to find props at the local marcato and for others, Aldo and his wife provided everything. There is truly nothing so beautiful as the produce at an Italian open-air market. I had never seen peppers of such a variety of hues before in my life (California's farmers markets, though not so large, remind me of the ones I saw in Italy.) The smells of fresh or aged cheeses were intoxicating. It was remarkably easy to create a variety of photos from a trip to the market. One of the photographs that Gail and I designed and shot was later licensed by the Washington Post, so the trip even helped pay for itself.
In 1987, I attended a board of directors and chapter presidents meeting for the American Society of Media Photographers in Santa Barbara. We had a joint dinner with the Advertising Photographers of America's board of directors and chapter presidents. During the course of the meal, one of my fellow board members said that his idea of heaven was to die and go to Italy where you would drive a little and eat a little throughout eternity. I completely agree.
I spent time talking with the delightful Tory Davis, whom I had seen at previous J. Keith parties but whose name I did not remember. The topic of food (starting with cheeses) became common ground. Tory's blog, The Way to Eat, was my first stop this morning and you should check it out. Not only does she write nicely about food, she's a pretty good food photographer as well.
Back in the days when I was a full-time photographer in the greater Washington, D.C. area, some of my favorite assignments were food shoots. Not only was there wonderful stuff for visuals, you also usually got to eat afterwards. For the Washington Post, I photographed food classes (once watching someone make a smaller version of the timbale I later saw in "Big Night"), food competitions (the French chefs from the best French restaurants competed against each other for a trip to a cooking competition in Europe--a pre-Iron Chef evening if I ever spent one), and various other food-related events.
I photographed the late, great Jean-Louis Palladin several times, my favorite being the day he wound up in the wrong race at a "taste of Washington" event. He finished last, but he did finish. I never ate at his famous restaurant at the Watergate, but I did get to sample his food that day and at an evening where some of the great chefs of the world gathered in D.C. I don't know what he was like to work for, but he was an absolutely charming individual and recognized me when I would show up to take his picture. (Here is a link to the Jean-Louis Palladin Foundation.)
Many of the food shoots I did were with or for Phyllis C. Richman, then the food critic for the Washington Post. She was fun to work with and my goal is to have as many cookbooks in my collection as she had in her office at the Post. One day, while I was working at the photo department, she came in and said something about The Russian Tea Room. I mentioned that my then husband had proposed to me there. The article she wrote started with something like "Everyone has a story about The Russian Tea Room," and the proposal was mentioned in passing. I accompanied Phyllis to two of the events where I photographed Jean-Louis. I have no idea how Phyllis disguised herself to do reviews since she seemed to know everyone in food in Washington.
In the summer of 1985, after I had stopped freelancing regularly for the Post's photo department, I went off to Italy for a two-week workshop in food photography. The instructor was Aldo Tutino, who had photographed much of the food for the Time-Life cookbook series. Aldo was a native of a city near Naples (Positano, I think), but he and his family lived in Alexandria, Virginia and had purchased a retirement home near a small town called Vernasca in Emilia-Romagna, one of the great food regions of Italy. (Is there any region of Italy which is not a great food region?) Aldo decided to give teaching photography a whirl and I was one of five students to attend his first workshop.
I don't remember much about the other students, except Gail, who was the chief photographer for Marriott Corp. and an acquaintance of mine in the D.C. photo community. She and I traveled to Italy together on the flight from hell--four hours on the tarmac in New York because of storms--and she gave me advice on where to shop for jewelry when I went on to Florence (Quaglia & Forte.) Another photographer was also from the D.C. area and the other two were from greater New York City.
We worked in large format--4 x 5 transparencies--but there were plenty of opportunities to shoot 35 mm as well. For some of the projects we went off to find props at the local marcato and for others, Aldo and his wife provided everything. There is truly nothing so beautiful as the produce at an Italian open-air market. I had never seen peppers of such a variety of hues before in my life (California's farmers markets, though not so large, remind me of the ones I saw in Italy.) The smells of fresh or aged cheeses were intoxicating. It was remarkably easy to create a variety of photos from a trip to the market. One of the photographs that Gail and I designed and shot was later licensed by the Washington Post, so the trip even helped pay for itself.
In 1987, I attended a board of directors and chapter presidents meeting for the American Society of Media Photographers in Santa Barbara. We had a joint dinner with the Advertising Photographers of America's board of directors and chapter presidents. During the course of the meal, one of my fellow board members said that his idea of heaven was to die and go to Italy where you would drive a little and eat a little throughout eternity. I completely agree.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Ace
The Arabian Prince will be 10 on Friday. He was born at night when a comet was visible in the sky and has a star on his forehead which looks like a swooshing comet (as you can see in the photo of the two of us), hence his registered name of Auspicious Comet. His call name comes from his initials, but Ace is short for a kind of sedative given to horses, which does make for the occasional attempts at poor humor by people who don't like Arabs.
I first saw him when he was a yearling. His mother was in foal to his baby sister (two years younger and born on the same day as Ace) and his older half-brother was still owned by my friend Melinda. Ace's markings are very similar to those of his mother, Flames Sirocco, who was also a flashy chestnut. His sister is a bay, and his half-brother is a gray. (He has many half-siblings by his sire, Padron's Mahogany, a magnificent bay.) Fortunately, Ace did not inherit his mother's temper but did learn from her that he should be the center of attention and he loves to show off for an audience. At a year he had his winning personality. He also loved to be fussed over, which the kids working for lessons at the Family Equestrian Connection have been happy to do.
There's about to be an interruption in that attention, and, unfortunately, it will happen on his birthday. The FEC needs to find another home, and a number of the owners who train with Gayle and Zsu Zsu are making temporary moves until FEC finds its new home. Many are leaving on Friday, and with them go the girls who don't own their own horses. We'll be staying through May, and I'm hopeful that Gayle will find a location where we can be together by May. I'd stay put, except that the owner of the place where Ace is housed has changed her mind about letting outside trainers work on the property and the trainer who remains (and the one we hear is moving in) does hunter/jumpers, so that's not appropriate to my needs. In addition, we hear that the dressage arena will become a second jumping arena, so the footing will not be right for us either. I expect it will be far less convenient to ride when I get done at work.
I'm quite sad about this kind of disruption falling so closely on the heels of the implosion of the equine facilities at Pierce College. It only shows how wasteful it is for those facilities to remain empty when there is a real need in this part of the valley for horse boarding.
I first saw him when he was a yearling. His mother was in foal to his baby sister (two years younger and born on the same day as Ace) and his older half-brother was still owned by my friend Melinda. Ace's markings are very similar to those of his mother, Flames Sirocco, who was also a flashy chestnut. His sister is a bay, and his half-brother is a gray. (He has many half-siblings by his sire, Padron's Mahogany, a magnificent bay.) Fortunately, Ace did not inherit his mother's temper but did learn from her that he should be the center of attention and he loves to show off for an audience. At a year he had his winning personality. He also loved to be fussed over, which the kids working for lessons at the Family Equestrian Connection have been happy to do.
There's about to be an interruption in that attention, and, unfortunately, it will happen on his birthday. The FEC needs to find another home, and a number of the owners who train with Gayle and Zsu Zsu are making temporary moves until FEC finds its new home. Many are leaving on Friday, and with them go the girls who don't own their own horses. We'll be staying through May, and I'm hopeful that Gayle will find a location where we can be together by May. I'd stay put, except that the owner of the place where Ace is housed has changed her mind about letting outside trainers work on the property and the trainer who remains (and the one we hear is moving in) does hunter/jumpers, so that's not appropriate to my needs. In addition, we hear that the dressage arena will become a second jumping arena, so the footing will not be right for us either. I expect it will be far less convenient to ride when I get done at work.
I'm quite sad about this kind of disruption falling so closely on the heels of the implosion of the equine facilities at Pierce College. It only shows how wasteful it is for those facilities to remain empty when there is a real need in this part of the valley for horse boarding.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Tempus Fugit--Dammit
The month has sped along, helped by the time I need to spend in preparation for the photography class I'm teaching at Pierce College this semester. Since it is a hybrid dealing with both film and digital cameras, I've got all new lectures to prepare so all of the students are covered.
In my less than copious spare time, we've managed to catch an actual movie at an actual movie theatre: "Music and Lyrics. " Drew Barrymore has truly captured the market in romantic comedies. This one is delightful, as have been "Never Been Kissed, " "The Wedding Singer," and "Ever After." If you haven't seen them, pop some corn and settle in. Fortunately, my husband loves these films, but you may have to do it as a chick-flick night.
We also had a terrific meal with our friends Andy Zax and Lisa Jane Persky last week at an Italian restaurant called Risotto in Studio City. While we were eating, Len identified James Van Der Beek walking into the restaurant. I had know idea who he was, but I'm told he was Dawson of "Dawson's Creek." Nice looking kid, but not on my radar. Len can identify old radio stars at the grocery store--it's one of his super powers--so identifying a television actor is quite easy for him.
I'm much less likely to notice folks I haven't photographed at some point, but I did identify David Spade one morning at a breakfast place, and my boss (with whom I was eating) was quite impressed. In Los Angeles, it's common to run into actors all over the place. Usually, we don't speak or otherwise bother them. We met Andy because we both recognized him from "Beat the Geeks" (he was the music geek) as we were leaving a restaurant, and a friend who was with us spoke to him and made introductions. Turned out that Andy was a huge fan of Len's work and thus are great friendships begun. When Andy started dating Lisa Jane, we were pleased to let her know that we were both fans of her film and television work. There's a link to her web page on the right,
Time to head out to dinner with Melinda Snodgrass, my good friend who bred my Arabian Prince and wrote the noted Star Trek: The Next Generation episode "Measure of a Man." We're heading to Tarzana to Fabrocini's, a terrific local Italian eatery. Comfort food for a chilly and damp Los Angeles evening.
In my less than copious spare time, we've managed to catch an actual movie at an actual movie theatre: "Music and Lyrics. " Drew Barrymore has truly captured the market in romantic comedies. This one is delightful, as have been "Never Been Kissed, " "The Wedding Singer," and "Ever After." If you haven't seen them, pop some corn and settle in. Fortunately, my husband loves these films, but you may have to do it as a chick-flick night.
We also had a terrific meal with our friends Andy Zax and Lisa Jane Persky last week at an Italian restaurant called Risotto in Studio City. While we were eating, Len identified James Van Der Beek walking into the restaurant. I had know idea who he was, but I'm told he was Dawson of "Dawson's Creek." Nice looking kid, but not on my radar. Len can identify old radio stars at the grocery store--it's one of his super powers--so identifying a television actor is quite easy for him.
I'm much less likely to notice folks I haven't photographed at some point, but I did identify David Spade one morning at a breakfast place, and my boss (with whom I was eating) was quite impressed. In Los Angeles, it's common to run into actors all over the place. Usually, we don't speak or otherwise bother them. We met Andy because we both recognized him from "Beat the Geeks" (he was the music geek) as we were leaving a restaurant, and a friend who was with us spoke to him and made introductions. Turned out that Andy was a huge fan of Len's work and thus are great friendships begun. When Andy started dating Lisa Jane, we were pleased to let her know that we were both fans of her film and television work. There's a link to her web page on the right,
Time to head out to dinner with Melinda Snodgrass, my good friend who bred my Arabian Prince and wrote the noted Star Trek: The Next Generation episode "Measure of a Man." We're heading to Tarzana to Fabrocini's, a terrific local Italian eatery. Comfort food for a chilly and damp Los Angeles evening.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Independent Seat
I'm working on developing what is known in riding as an "independent seat." Simply put, it means you stay on the horse without holding on with hands or legs (sort of.) There's an anchoring with the pelvic bones that I am absolutely sure is easier to learn at the age of 7, when there is no fear, than in the much later decade I'm now living. As my instructor gives me the combination of movements, I cannot help but say "yeah, right." Nevertheless, I have progressed from no-handed walk on the horse on the lounge line to no-handed sitting trot, with my arms in the crucified Jesus extension.
There was a time when I thought I would throw up just sitting in the saddle. There was no way I could let go of anything that high in the air. Fear of heights, fear of speed. I no longer feel like I'm stories above the ground when I'm riding my horse, but I've still got issues with speed. I could be wrong, but I think part of yesterday's lesson was laying the groundwork for the canter, the gate which scares me to death. It scares me even though I've cued and ridden the canter a number of times. It's the lack of control over speed and direction, and I've actually experienced both. "What if he spooks?" is the often unspoken but always understood monster behind the door.
All horses spook. If they didn't, they would have been eaten eons ago. Spookiness is a survival trait. I've worked long and hard at developing the Arabian Prince's mellowness, but he has his moments. Othertimes, we watch the world being crazy and he just sighs. I'm very proud of him on those days because it gives the lie to people who think Arabians have scrambled eggs for brains. Julie Goodnight says "the average Arabian is smarter than the average cowboy" which is why cowboys won't own them. I've met plenty of people who aren't as smart as my Arabian is. He knows enough to stay out of the rain, for example. He knows enough to keep a clean area where he eats and sleeps (putting him a few steps ahead of my son.)
The independent seat is hard work. I got home after my lesson last night absolutely exhausted. Tomorrow, I'll probably identify a bunch of muscles I didn't know existed. I've always thought that sailing is too much work to be fun. Even if riding is a lot of work, I've got the pleasure of a horse who talks to me when I drive up to his stall and who lets me know if he thinks I'm paying too much attention to another horse.
Yesterday, for example, I rode a school horse for my lesson. Nicholas is extremely dependable on a lounge line, and knowing he is that trustworthy gives me the confidence to let go of everything and ride no-handed and with my feet out of the stirrups for some things. Ace was turned out while I was tacking Nicholas. He worked himself into an absolute lather, running back and forth and around the turnout. When I went to put him back in his stall, he was dripping wet, and that dried to a nice salty crust. It was too late to bathe him, but I did manage to brush most of it out. That was all because he was not happy that I was stepping out on him.
I realize that's a bit of projection, but the only people who don't think animals have emotions are the people who don't own and observe animals on a regular basis. That goes for people who don't think animals understand words. If I say "out" and I'm in the bedroom, my dogs head for the door to the yard and wait. If I say "snack," they immediately head to the living room and look at the treat bag. If we think a horse can understand "whoa," why wouldn't they understand "walk," "trot," "canter," "foot," "carrot," or "cookie?"
The Arabian Prince is about to get some schooling from an experienced rider. It's been quite a while since that's happened on a regular basis. Should be fun to see what happens when a rider with an independent seat actually takes a turn on his back.
There was a time when I thought I would throw up just sitting in the saddle. There was no way I could let go of anything that high in the air. Fear of heights, fear of speed. I no longer feel like I'm stories above the ground when I'm riding my horse, but I've still got issues with speed. I could be wrong, but I think part of yesterday's lesson was laying the groundwork for the canter, the gate which scares me to death. It scares me even though I've cued and ridden the canter a number of times. It's the lack of control over speed and direction, and I've actually experienced both. "What if he spooks?" is the often unspoken but always understood monster behind the door.
All horses spook. If they didn't, they would have been eaten eons ago. Spookiness is a survival trait. I've worked long and hard at developing the Arabian Prince's mellowness, but he has his moments. Othertimes, we watch the world being crazy and he just sighs. I'm very proud of him on those days because it gives the lie to people who think Arabians have scrambled eggs for brains. Julie Goodnight says "the average Arabian is smarter than the average cowboy" which is why cowboys won't own them. I've met plenty of people who aren't as smart as my Arabian is. He knows enough to stay out of the rain, for example. He knows enough to keep a clean area where he eats and sleeps (putting him a few steps ahead of my son.)
The independent seat is hard work. I got home after my lesson last night absolutely exhausted. Tomorrow, I'll probably identify a bunch of muscles I didn't know existed. I've always thought that sailing is too much work to be fun. Even if riding is a lot of work, I've got the pleasure of a horse who talks to me when I drive up to his stall and who lets me know if he thinks I'm paying too much attention to another horse.
Yesterday, for example, I rode a school horse for my lesson. Nicholas is extremely dependable on a lounge line, and knowing he is that trustworthy gives me the confidence to let go of everything and ride no-handed and with my feet out of the stirrups for some things. Ace was turned out while I was tacking Nicholas. He worked himself into an absolute lather, running back and forth and around the turnout. When I went to put him back in his stall, he was dripping wet, and that dried to a nice salty crust. It was too late to bathe him, but I did manage to brush most of it out. That was all because he was not happy that I was stepping out on him.
I realize that's a bit of projection, but the only people who don't think animals have emotions are the people who don't own and observe animals on a regular basis. That goes for people who don't think animals understand words. If I say "out" and I'm in the bedroom, my dogs head for the door to the yard and wait. If I say "snack," they immediately head to the living room and look at the treat bag. If we think a horse can understand "whoa," why wouldn't they understand "walk," "trot," "canter," "foot," "carrot," or "cookie?"
The Arabian Prince is about to get some schooling from an experienced rider. It's been quite a while since that's happened on a regular basis. Should be fun to see what happens when a rider with an independent seat actually takes a turn on his back.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Coyote Beautiful
I work at Los Angeles Pierce College, a community college in Woodland Hills, California. We're near the western edges of Los Angeles County, but definitely in an urban area. Warner Center, with its high-rise office buildings and hotels, is blocks away. Various post-WWII neighborhoods surround us. But the school is on approximately 430 acres--that's a little less than a mile square. At least 2/3 of that is "The Farm" or undeveloped.
Pierce was founded as an agricultural college for men returning from World War II. Women were admitted years later. The bathroom facilities in the older buildings reflect this afterthought.
The amount of open land has a nice benefit: wildlife. We see hawks, rabbits and other animals in addition to the cows, horses, sheep, goats, and pigs which are raised here. I know that the Ag Department--particularly the sheep unit--wouldn't be thrilled with this, but I had a handsome coyote cross my path as I drove to work this morning and it made my morning. It trotted across Stadium Way to head up the hill to the Art Department. I noticed what looked like a well-worn path as I pulled my car over to watch. I couldn't get the camera out fast enough, or I would have photographed it as it headed through the brush.
When Ace lived on campus, we often would hear the coyotes sing in the evening. If sirens went off, there was a guarantee of harmonizing coming from the dark. Occasionally, I would see one stalking small mammals in the field with the cows during the day or catch sight of a small pack of them as I drove home after dark. Once, I was walking Ace out to the big field along Victory and he suddenly stopped, planting all four feet with his body slightly crouched--ready to spring away to safety if necessary--and he swung his head to see around me. From behind the round pen trotted a coyote. It was about 11 a.m., so I was surprised by the audacity of a mid-day stroll for what I consider a nocturnal animal. He moved right in front of us to the gate we were approaching and went on through to the field. For the entire time we walked the perimeter of that field, Ace kept one eye on that coyote. The coyote was stalking gophers, which is a useful occupation for a coyote.
I read recently of a town in Oregon which put a bounty on coyotes back in the 20s or 30s. It was then over run by rats and mice. If Pierce succeeded in getting rid of its coyotes, the campus would be overrun with mice, gophers, and feral cats. Although illegal, people dump unwanted animals here all the time.
Soon after I took the job I have at Pierce, I discovered that the school's namesake, Dr. Clarence Pierce, had been from the same small town in upstate New York where I was raised. Delaware County was one of the largest dairy producers in the state when I grew up and it would only have been a bigger farming area at the end of the 19th Century when Dr. Pierce and his brothers left for California. (The Pierce Brothers ran a successful string of mortuaries out here, some of which still bear their name.) The town I'm from had about 4000 people, about half of whom were in K-12 when I was going to school. It's much smaller than the population of the college which currently enrolls about 18,000 students. I'd say the odds of this connection across 3000 miles of country were fairly small.
While Pierce still maintains an agriculture and horticulture program, it is shrinking. Control of the farm is being frittered away to subcontractors who might bring in cash rather that implementing programs which would increase student experience on a working farm or ranch. A few years ago, there were proposals to build an office building or a golf course on the large piece of open land at the corner of DeSoto Avenue and Victory Boulevard. This was stopped, and I think a college president lost his position over it, but I believe it is only a matter of time before all farming operations cease and the land is leased or sold. It would be a loss to the community and to that family of coyotes which keeps the pests under control.
Pierce was founded as an agricultural college for men returning from World War II. Women were admitted years later. The bathroom facilities in the older buildings reflect this afterthought.
The amount of open land has a nice benefit: wildlife. We see hawks, rabbits and other animals in addition to the cows, horses, sheep, goats, and pigs which are raised here. I know that the Ag Department--particularly the sheep unit--wouldn't be thrilled with this, but I had a handsome coyote cross my path as I drove to work this morning and it made my morning. It trotted across Stadium Way to head up the hill to the Art Department. I noticed what looked like a well-worn path as I pulled my car over to watch. I couldn't get the camera out fast enough, or I would have photographed it as it headed through the brush.
When Ace lived on campus, we often would hear the coyotes sing in the evening. If sirens went off, there was a guarantee of harmonizing coming from the dark. Occasionally, I would see one stalking small mammals in the field with the cows during the day or catch sight of a small pack of them as I drove home after dark. Once, I was walking Ace out to the big field along Victory and he suddenly stopped, planting all four feet with his body slightly crouched--ready to spring away to safety if necessary--and he swung his head to see around me. From behind the round pen trotted a coyote. It was about 11 a.m., so I was surprised by the audacity of a mid-day stroll for what I consider a nocturnal animal. He moved right in front of us to the gate we were approaching and went on through to the field. For the entire time we walked the perimeter of that field, Ace kept one eye on that coyote. The coyote was stalking gophers, which is a useful occupation for a coyote.
I read recently of a town in Oregon which put a bounty on coyotes back in the 20s or 30s. It was then over run by rats and mice. If Pierce succeeded in getting rid of its coyotes, the campus would be overrun with mice, gophers, and feral cats. Although illegal, people dump unwanted animals here all the time.
Soon after I took the job I have at Pierce, I discovered that the school's namesake, Dr. Clarence Pierce, had been from the same small town in upstate New York where I was raised. Delaware County was one of the largest dairy producers in the state when I grew up and it would only have been a bigger farming area at the end of the 19th Century when Dr. Pierce and his brothers left for California. (The Pierce Brothers ran a successful string of mortuaries out here, some of which still bear their name.) The town I'm from had about 4000 people, about half of whom were in K-12 when I was going to school. It's much smaller than the population of the college which currently enrolls about 18,000 students. I'd say the odds of this connection across 3000 miles of country were fairly small.
While Pierce still maintains an agriculture and horticulture program, it is shrinking. Control of the farm is being frittered away to subcontractors who might bring in cash rather that implementing programs which would increase student experience on a working farm or ranch. A few years ago, there were proposals to build an office building or a golf course on the large piece of open land at the corner of DeSoto Avenue and Victory Boulevard. This was stopped, and I think a college president lost his position over it, but I believe it is only a matter of time before all farming operations cease and the land is leased or sold. It would be a loss to the community and to that family of coyotes which keeps the pests under control.
Monday, February 26, 2007
And the Oscar Goes To
Whatever happened to "And the Winner Is?"
Sometimes I wonder if we get a different version of the Academy Awards in Los Angeles than they get in the rest of the country. Then I realize we do, because here they start mid afternoon with the red carpet coverage and when they are over in Los Angeles, we still have a couple of hours of prime-time television to watch. Consequently, when the show runs over, we don't see it as any big deal. No more than if the Super Bowl went into overtime or a baseball game went on for 16 hours.
In our living room, we found last night's Oscar telecast one of the best in years. Ellen was a terrific host, we like the dance troupe, we thought Al Gore was great, and we liked most of the short production pieces celebrating the nominees, foreign films, sound effects, and passings. So I was a little surprised by Tom Shales' review in this morning's Washington Post which pretty much panned the evening. (Shales and I worked together once while I was shooting for the post, on a piece about Normal Lear and "The People for the American Way," which he had just founded. I did the pictures, he wrote the story. I think I got almost a 1/4 page photo printed on the front page of the Style section of the Washington Post that day.) Other reviews tended to denigrate Ellen's selection as host because she's a daytime television host. What is that about?
Many times, we participate in Oscar pools or make up ballots for the folks int he room. Not this year. Even my husband hadn't seen all of the major films. We only saw The Departed, The Queen, and Little Miss Sunshine last week because the screeners were sent to us. We never got around to Babel, Flight 93, Flags of Our Fathers, or the other films which were sent to us. Len had seen Dream Girls, Letters from Iwo Jima, and Pan's Labyrinth during the screening season, which I pretty much missed this year.
We didn't have a "dog in this fight" except perhaps for "Pan's Labyrinth," since it was made by an acquaintance of my husband. We do question whether someone tipped the results of Scorsese's win so that Francis Ford Coppola, George Lucas, and Steven Spielberg could all be there to present it to him (but I suspect the DGA Award was enough for the Academy to bet on Scorsese's win and the showy presentation.)
I kept the food for the dozen-person party simple: a vegetarian chili (modified to include eggplant and mushrooms, along with the called-for zucchini, onions, beans, and bell peppers) and a turkey chili, chips and dips, taquitos, and some cheeses, and we had some excellent babaganoush, cookies, bread and champagne contributed. After the Oscars were over, we watched this week's installment of "The Amazing Race," which is, after all, what Sunday night with friends is about at our house.
Len and I managed to actually go to the movies this weekend to see "The Astronaut Farmer," a film which we really enjoyed. We had thought about catching "Music and Lyrics" but wound up at "The Bridge to Terrabithia" instead. I suggested it based on the reviews I had read, since I had never read the book and wasn't familiar with the material. Len said he would never have gone to see the film because he knew nothing about it and absolutely loved it. Go see it.
Sometimes I wonder if we get a different version of the Academy Awards in Los Angeles than they get in the rest of the country. Then I realize we do, because here they start mid afternoon with the red carpet coverage and when they are over in Los Angeles, we still have a couple of hours of prime-time television to watch. Consequently, when the show runs over, we don't see it as any big deal. No more than if the Super Bowl went into overtime or a baseball game went on for 16 hours.
In our living room, we found last night's Oscar telecast one of the best in years. Ellen was a terrific host, we like the dance troupe, we thought Al Gore was great, and we liked most of the short production pieces celebrating the nominees, foreign films, sound effects, and passings. So I was a little surprised by Tom Shales' review in this morning's Washington Post which pretty much panned the evening. (Shales and I worked together once while I was shooting for the post, on a piece about Normal Lear and "The People for the American Way," which he had just founded. I did the pictures, he wrote the story. I think I got almost a 1/4 page photo printed on the front page of the Style section of the Washington Post that day.) Other reviews tended to denigrate Ellen's selection as host because she's a daytime television host. What is that about?
Many times, we participate in Oscar pools or make up ballots for the folks int he room. Not this year. Even my husband hadn't seen all of the major films. We only saw The Departed, The Queen, and Little Miss Sunshine last week because the screeners were sent to us. We never got around to Babel, Flight 93, Flags of Our Fathers, or the other films which were sent to us. Len had seen Dream Girls, Letters from Iwo Jima, and Pan's Labyrinth during the screening season, which I pretty much missed this year.
We didn't have a "dog in this fight" except perhaps for "Pan's Labyrinth," since it was made by an acquaintance of my husband. We do question whether someone tipped the results of Scorsese's win so that Francis Ford Coppola, George Lucas, and Steven Spielberg could all be there to present it to him (but I suspect the DGA Award was enough for the Academy to bet on Scorsese's win and the showy presentation.)
I kept the food for the dozen-person party simple: a vegetarian chili (modified to include eggplant and mushrooms, along with the called-for zucchini, onions, beans, and bell peppers) and a turkey chili, chips and dips, taquitos, and some cheeses, and we had some excellent babaganoush, cookies, bread and champagne contributed. After the Oscars were over, we watched this week's installment of "The Amazing Race," which is, after all, what Sunday night with friends is about at our house.
Len and I managed to actually go to the movies this weekend to see "The Astronaut Farmer," a film which we really enjoyed. We had thought about catching "Music and Lyrics" but wound up at "The Bridge to Terrabithia" instead. I suggested it based on the reviews I had read, since I had never read the book and wasn't familiar with the material. Len said he would never have gone to see the film because he knew nothing about it and absolutely loved it. Go see it.
Friday, February 23, 2007
The Great Stallion of Mecca
My Arabian Prince has been locked up in his stall for several days, mostly due to the wind and the rain. The chill in the air seems to really set horses off--they really want to MOVE. Since he is still recovering from a bruise he got at the Pierce College Equestrian Center in December, I can't really turn him loose in an arena--he bound to bruise himself again. Instead, I took him for a walk on a lead line.
He clearly was happy to get out. He is usually a very calm walker, but he was pulling on the lead and dancing a very elevated trot as we walked. He wanted to run, but he was hampered. We walked over to the area where the hunter/jumper show barn is on the property and he was quite interested in the horses which were getting ready to take a trail ride (all of the arenas are drying out from yesterday's downpour.) That's when things got very interesting.
Ace decided that he needed to let the other horses know who was the best looking animal on the ranch. It wasn't enough that the riders were impressed with how pretty and how clean he was. (I can't take credit for him being clean--he hates being wet and he doesn't like to roll in the mud. And he sure doesn't like to get his feet wet.) He started dancing around me with his tail straight in the air and along with that is a move that makes him look really big. He has amazing presence. Then he makes himself absolutely as big as he can, with is four legs firmly planted, his head high, his ears forward, and along comes the snort--the noise of the Great Stallion of Mecca. Look at me! Attention must be paid! It's in those moments that I realize how much power is in those 940 pounds. It's very impressive.
Then I have to laugh and point out to him that he's lost the parts to actually be the Great Stallion of Mecca. He can very much be my King of the Wind without those parts but he's got to get his brain focused back on me and not on the four horses that have gone off down the hill to get to the trail head. I had him dancing a well-suspended, collected trot around me for a few more minutes as we headed back toward his stall. What really brought him back to earth, though, was the opportunity to mow some nice green grass. After a little graze, he was just fine.
Of course, when I took him back to his stall is when I discovered the drowned squirrel in his water bucket. Ugh. Fortunately, there was nothing in his automatic waterer, so I assume he was drinking from that. So now the score is 4 rats and 1 squirrel. Can't wait to see what else falls in to his water when the weather gets better and more animals are around.
He clearly was happy to get out. He is usually a very calm walker, but he was pulling on the lead and dancing a very elevated trot as we walked. He wanted to run, but he was hampered. We walked over to the area where the hunter/jumper show barn is on the property and he was quite interested in the horses which were getting ready to take a trail ride (all of the arenas are drying out from yesterday's downpour.) That's when things got very interesting.
Ace decided that he needed to let the other horses know who was the best looking animal on the ranch. It wasn't enough that the riders were impressed with how pretty and how clean he was. (I can't take credit for him being clean--he hates being wet and he doesn't like to roll in the mud. And he sure doesn't like to get his feet wet.) He started dancing around me with his tail straight in the air and along with that is a move that makes him look really big. He has amazing presence. Then he makes himself absolutely as big as he can, with is four legs firmly planted, his head high, his ears forward, and along comes the snort--the noise of the Great Stallion of Mecca. Look at me! Attention must be paid! It's in those moments that I realize how much power is in those 940 pounds. It's very impressive.
Then I have to laugh and point out to him that he's lost the parts to actually be the Great Stallion of Mecca. He can very much be my King of the Wind without those parts but he's got to get his brain focused back on me and not on the four horses that have gone off down the hill to get to the trail head. I had him dancing a well-suspended, collected trot around me for a few more minutes as we headed back toward his stall. What really brought him back to earth, though, was the opportunity to mow some nice green grass. After a little graze, he was just fine.
Of course, when I took him back to his stall is when I discovered the drowned squirrel in his water bucket. Ugh. Fortunately, there was nothing in his automatic waterer, so I assume he was drinking from that. So now the score is 4 rats and 1 squirrel. Can't wait to see what else falls in to his water when the weather gets better and more animals are around.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Godspeed, John Glenn
It is the umptiumpth anniversary of Friendship 7's three orbits of the earth, according to today's New York Times. I remember being bused from Miller Avenue Elementary school across town (maybe 10 blocks) to the big auditorium at Townsend School (then an elementary plus junior high school) where, on one black and white television of perhaps 19" we all watched the grainy transmissions and static sounds of lift-off. It seems impossible now that the school district couldn't afford a television for Miller Avenue as well.
It was very exciting to have an American astronaut circumnavigate the globe. The Russians did that with every one of their launches beginning with the first. We used the equatorial route, they used the polar route (the easier to spy on the entire world, I guess.) The Russians always landed on land. We landed in the oceans.
A few weeks after this momentous event, we were all ferried back to Townsend School again, this time to listen to an audio tape of Astronaut John Glenn talking to one of the town's ministers, with whom he had gone to college. That was as close as we seemed to get to celebrity those days.
The space program has always thrilled me. There's a wonderful film from Australia called "The Dish." It's about the events surrounding the landing of Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin on the moon in July, 1969. In Australia, the date was my birthday, July 21. In the states, it was July 20. It's a delightful little film which I enjoy as much as I enjoy The Right Stuff (which does portray John Glenn) and Apollo 13. Apollo 13 has me on the edge of my seat every time I see it, even though I know what the ending is--thank goodness.
With the release this week of 8mm film taken moments before John F. Kennedy's assassination, I can only imagine how pleased he would have been that his goal of setting a man on the moon before the end of the 1960s was realized. That was so much greater a goal than staying the course in Iraq is.
It was very exciting to have an American astronaut circumnavigate the globe. The Russians did that with every one of their launches beginning with the first. We used the equatorial route, they used the polar route (the easier to spy on the entire world, I guess.) The Russians always landed on land. We landed in the oceans.
A few weeks after this momentous event, we were all ferried back to Townsend School again, this time to listen to an audio tape of Astronaut John Glenn talking to one of the town's ministers, with whom he had gone to college. That was as close as we seemed to get to celebrity those days.
The space program has always thrilled me. There's a wonderful film from Australia called "The Dish." It's about the events surrounding the landing of Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin on the moon in July, 1969. In Australia, the date was my birthday, July 21. In the states, it was July 20. It's a delightful little film which I enjoy as much as I enjoy The Right Stuff (which does portray John Glenn) and Apollo 13. Apollo 13 has me on the edge of my seat every time I see it, even though I know what the ending is--thank goodness.
With the release this week of 8mm film taken moments before John F. Kennedy's assassination, I can only imagine how pleased he would have been that his goal of setting a man on the moon before the end of the 1960s was realized. That was so much greater a goal than staying the course in Iraq is.
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