Alma and I went to the beach earlier than usual yesterday because we had an evening engagement planned with a friend at the 2010-11 debut concert of the Culver City Symphony Orchestra. The weather yesterday afternoon was simply gorgeous. As a result, we were unable to find parking in our customary spot and instead had to park further down on Brooks Ave. Brooks feeds straight into the heart of the Venice Boardwalk, a strip of t-shirt, tatoo and trinket vendors, and we decided to walk down the Boardwalk between Brooks and Windward Circle, rather than venture out onto the sand. I shall have far more to write about the Boardwalk in subsequent posts. Suffice it to say for now that the feeling and energy right now on the Boardwalk are somewhat muted, given that the high season is over. There are still many vendors hawking their wares there, but there are noticeably empty spots which during the high season would be filled.
Still, we had a nice walk and I did not get a sunburn. I was concerned, because I all too frequently forget to bring sun block. And, although I forgot to bring any yesterday, I managed to find shady spots along the Boardwalk to tarry while Alma perused the vendors' wares and looked for any unusual art supplies.
We had to walk early because we would be attending the concert that started at about 7 p.m. last night. Now I should point out that I have something of a background in popular and classical music. When I came out to Los Angeles from the midwest in 1994, I tried to break into the pop music business out here (with at best mixed results). I play guitar, piano and a few other instruments. Before I earned B.A. degrees in English and History, I studied classical piano performance for two years at the Conservatory of Music in Kansas City, Missouri. So I know a little bit more than the average citizen about classical music, you could say.
This performance last night brought to mind Samuel Johnson's witticism regarding Milton's Paradise Lost: No one would have wished it any longer. It really is a shame, as there was a large audience for the concert. One had the feeling that this audience was a bit untutored in classical music, as witnessed by its proclivity to clap at inopportune moments. Still, the audience did not get to feel the magic of a truly electric live performance of classical music. One of the orchestra's adminsitrative flunkies actually came out before the concert started to instruct the audience in proper concert etiquette, i.e., no cell phones and no talking. Not a good harbinger of what was to come, as it turned out.
The program was billed as a tribute to veterans and, in keeping with that theme, started with a medley of U.S. military service agency themes, like 'Anchors Away' and the 'Marine Hymn.' I knew we would be in for a long night when, upon the conclusion of a hum-drum prosaic rendition, the conductor (Frank Fetta) turned to face the clapping audience and beckoned the audience (but not the orchestra!) to stand. "Only in LA," I thought "would a conductor motion to his or her audience for a standing ovation." Very strange. At intermission, Alma confided that she thought the conductor was trying to signal to us that this would be as good as last night's performance was going to get.
The program continued with 'Excerpts' from Stravinsky's Pulcinella Suite. Why 'Excerpts'? No explanation given in the program notes for why nor for how or why the specific excerpts were chosen. I started noticing ensemble problems though almost from the start of this piece, as entrances were just a few milliseconds late and notes held a few milliseconds too long, particularly among the violins and violas.
The first half of the program concluded with Schumann's Cello Concerto. The soloist, Peter Myers, played quite passionately in his solo passages and cadenzas and convincingly conveyed some of Schumann's Romantic spirit. But I could not help but feel that the orchestra held back Myers' performance. In a concerto, the primary role of the orchestra should be to accompany the soloist and allow the soloist to set the pace. In this case, though, the orchestra did not seem to be accompanying the soloist so much as playing its own concerto to its own tempo, one that the soloist kept trying with only mixed success to speed up.
Indeed, tempo proved a constant challenge for this director and orchestra. And nowhere more so than in the second half of the program, when the orchestra played Beethoven's "Eroica" in its entirety. Beethoven marked the first movement as 'Allegro con brio' meaning 'Fast with spirit'. Instead, the conductor chose to conduct the movement to almost an 'Andante non con brio' tempo. What was the conductor thinking? He was nothing if not consistent, however, as each of the next 3 movements played more slowly than either Beethoven intended or modern convention typically has them. Especially obnoxious was the final movement "Allegro molto". It seemed to me that the most the audience ever got was an Allegretto. The ensemble problems I had begun to notice in the Stravinsky became really noticeable in the 4th movement.
There were some good things about last night's performance: the orchestra's intonation in general was good. I noticed that the woodwinds and brass played with passion and feeling. The oboist was especially noteworthy during the 2nd movement (the so-called Funeral March) of the Eroica.
However, good intonation and good intentions do not a masterful performance make. It was not all the director's fault. The acoustics in the hall were less than optimal. But I constantly heard voicing problems throughout -- by 'voicing,' I mean that the balance between the sections seemed off at crucial moments in each piece. I swear there were places in the Beethoven where it seemed like instruments were simply missing, the balance between sections was so poor. That I do hold the conductor responsible for. And rather than wave his arms melodramatically through the air like some swimming -- or perhaps drowning -- aquatic mammal, would it be too much to ask that the conductor first use his baton like a metronome to make sure that all members are playing on the beat? Upon the recapitulation of Beethoven's 3rd movement (the "Scherzo"), unless I miss my guess, the orchestra simply dropped two beats of music, skipped over them as though they did not exist, replacing the glory of Beethoven with ... two fewer beats of Beethoven.
When Alma and I left that night, we overheard a violinist outside the hall complain about the 'blitzkrieg of notes'. Had he overheard that comment, Beethoven would be stomping his feet, tearing his hair and throwing his baton at the offending orchestra member. When an orchestra's instrumentalists feel they are dealing with a "blitzkrieg of notes," that might explain why they would be tempted to skip a couple beats here and there.
I hate to say this, but the Culver City Symphony Orchestra should not have performed Beethoven's 3rd last night. It should have stuck with the 1st or 2nd -- both relatively simple pieces by comparison -- and left the 3rd to the big boys and girls at the LA Philharmonic. (The LA Philharmonic might want to give that oboist a good listen though.) The really sad thing from last night's performance is that the magic of the music did not come through in the slightest. It is safe to say that those who came without prior exposure to any of the pieces left unmoved. And given my prior exposure to some of the pieces, I was left feeling vaguely resentful and determined that I would spend no more time in this orchestra's and director's presence. If you are going to play Beethoven, you should play him as he intended he be played or you should propound an original vision of his work. You do the audience and Beethoven a dis-service if you promulgate a wishy-washy mish-mash of half-baked musical nostrums and hide behind a melodramatic presentation to disguise the utter emptiness, vacuity and banality of your soundscape
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
Are Cars Necessary?
I carried on at length in my post of November 10th about cars, driving and parking in Los Angeles. An astute observer might say that I carried on at such length because I had a guilty conscience. And why would I have a guilty conscience about something as mundane as a car? Because one does not absolutely have to own a car to survive in Los Angeles. As Thoreau might say, a car is not "necessary." A car in Los Angeles, though, is a major convenience and life without one here can be distinctly brutish and often unpleasant.
Before Alma met me, she had spent her entire adult life without a car, including 10 years in Los Angeles. She survived in a previous marriage and then as a divorcee and single mother using public transportation and her feet. Alma points out that, before she met me, she never had to exercise, because she walked so much in her day-to-day life. Now, ironically, we drive to the beach each day . . . in order to get exercise. Thoreau would no doubt find that little paradox worthy of comment.
I drive a beat-up 1993 Nissan Sentra and have done so since June of 1993. Despite having been seriously damaged twice in hit-and-run accidents while parked and vacant on the street, the Nissan still runs well. It has about 125,000 miles on it, although the clutch may be starting to fail. I have long since paid off the loan I took out to pay for it and so consider myself truly a free man when driving it. It is a very dependable vehicle and I would not trade it for anything else on the road, I think. Well, now the clutch may be starting to fail and I have been warned that this could be an expensive repair. But it is an expense I will gladly endure because I have no car payment and because I save so much time with it. compared to taking the bus, bicycling or travelling on foot.
I must say, though, that when I am driving and I happen to look over to my left or to my right and see a single person driving one of these modern-day land yachts like a Lincoln Navigator or Cadillac Escalade, or when I see some high-paid denizen of society driving a BMW or Mercedes, I must confess to wondering how much of the car he drives is necessity and how much instead ostentatious display.
Or, as Thoreau might say, the people in LA who drive these opulent displays are the
most terribly impoverished class of all, who have accumulated dross, but know not how to use it, or get rid of it, and thus have forged their own golden or silver fetters.
I occasionally see commercials on television for these types of expensive vehicles and am continually thunderstruck by how high the monthly payments can run, often in the neighborhood of $4-500/month just for the vehicle payment. When one adds insurance, the monthly vehicle cost may easily exceed $750/month. I have never seen the inside of an Escalade or Navigator, but I think one had better be able to live inside one for $750/month.
One of the things I most like and admire about Thoreau is that he is so uncompromising, at least in print. His curmudgeonly persona matches the persona I frequently offer to the world; one of my former companions referred to me as a "Spartan in the land of plenty" and so I find in Thoreau something of a kindred spirit. Thoreau sets a high standard and one that I find impossible to attain completely, but his standard is one I strive for in my daily life.
The first section or chapter of Walden, "Economy," offers a protracted discussion of what exactly is necessary to survive and to stay free. Somehow I think Thoreau would heap scorn on anyone who said that he or she simply had to have a motorized vehicle to survive or to save time. If one were to reply to Thoreau about how much time one wasted getting from point A to point B by bus or, better yet in Thoreau's thinking, on foot, Thoreau would reply that one is imprisoned by the very idea that one "must" get from point A to point B in any amount of time. This "gospel of the necessary," if preached by a fuss-budget, would drive most people away. And although he does sometimes come across as a bit prissy, still Thoreau compels us to engage his point that we do not possess things so much as they possess us.
Here is what Thoreau says:
One of the things I most like and admire about Thoreau is that he is so uncompromising, at least in print. His curmudgeonly persona matches the persona I frequently offer to the world; one of my former companions referred to me as a "Spartan in the land of plenty" and so I find in Thoreau something of a kindred spirit. Thoreau sets a high standard and one that I find impossible to attain completely, but his standard is one I strive for in my daily life.
The first section or chapter of Walden, "Economy," offers a protracted discussion of what exactly is necessary to survive and to stay free. Somehow I think Thoreau would heap scorn on anyone who said that he or she simply had to have a motorized vehicle to survive or to save time. If one were to reply to Thoreau about how much time one wasted getting from point A to point B by bus or, better yet in Thoreau's thinking, on foot, Thoreau would reply that one is imprisoned by the very idea that one "must" get from point A to point B in any amount of time. This "gospel of the necessary," if preached by a fuss-budget, would drive most people away. And although he does sometimes come across as a bit prissy, still Thoreau compels us to engage his point that we do not possess things so much as they possess us.
Here is what Thoreau says:
Most of the luxuries, and many of the so called comforts of life, are not only not indispensable [sic], but positive hinderances [sic] to the elevation of mankind.
Along those lines, thinking like Thoreau, is it not a contradiction of the highest order to think that one must save time to get to the beach only to stand in the presence of timelessness? Is it not a contradiction of the greatest severity to employ the infernal internal combustion engine in order to more quickly see Nature face to face? And is not one doing a disservice to brutes to call life without a car 'brutish' as I did in my first paragraph?
Life is 'brutish' without a car in Los Angeles? Thoreau would laugh at me, just as he would laugh at my petty need to save time. But I still like Thoreau. A lot. And I would gladly offer him a ride to anywhere he needed to go. And he would probably gladly accept it.
Life is 'brutish' without a car in Los Angeles? Thoreau would laugh at me, just as he would laugh at my petty need to save time. But I still like Thoreau. A lot. And I would gladly offer him a ride to anywhere he needed to go. And he would probably gladly accept it.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Why I Posted So Late Yesterday and Today
My regular readers will have noticed that I did not post an entry last night until far later than had been my custom previously. The same has happened today.
As it happens, I am helping build a virtual gallery to display Alma's art online. We decided to use Yahoo for our web hosting solution and Yahoo offers a website design kit that is fairly intuitive and user friendly, i.e., does not require any programming.
However, because Alma's website of necessity includes a large number of images and not as much text, I find that she and I are spending a lot of time editing photographic images of her art. I will have far more to say on the issue of art galleries and the "art scene" in Los Angeles in later posts. Suffice it for now to say that this virtual gallery I am building for Alma leapfrogs entirely over the whole question of how to display her work in physical brick-and-mortar galleries.
We hope to launch this website on Saturday. I will of course post a link to it when it launches. But my time to post on this blog right now is limited. So I hope my regular readers and any current or prospective cult followers will have patience and bear with me during this time.
As it happens, I am helping build a virtual gallery to display Alma's art online. We decided to use Yahoo for our web hosting solution and Yahoo offers a website design kit that is fairly intuitive and user friendly, i.e., does not require any programming.
However, because Alma's website of necessity includes a large number of images and not as much text, I find that she and I are spending a lot of time editing photographic images of her art. I will have far more to say on the issue of art galleries and the "art scene" in Los Angeles in later posts. Suffice it for now to say that this virtual gallery I am building for Alma leapfrogs entirely over the whole question of how to display her work in physical brick-and-mortar galleries.
We hope to launch this website on Saturday. I will of course post a link to it when it launches. But my time to post on this blog right now is limited. So I hope my regular readers and any current or prospective cult followers will have patience and bear with me during this time.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
How We Prepare to Walk
A whole host of things happen before Alma and I begin our walks each day, First and foremost, we must drive to the beach from our home. As I have written earlier, the beach is really only about 5 miles from where Alma and I live and you might think we could easily ride a bus or a bicycle to it.
A bus ride to the beach in Los Angeles, however, is not always a simple matter. Alma and I live in Westchester, close to a couple major bus lines, but neither line goes straight to the beach. Instead, each bus travels to a central hub, from which we must transfer twice more to end at the beach we prefer. I am not opposed to buses in principle and have used them regularly in the past to commute to various jobs. And I would gladly take one to the beach, were it not that the bus ride each way lasts about 90 minutes (or 3 hours round-trip), when I can easily reach that same beach by car in 15 minutes each way, or one-sixth the time.
I will grant you that there are many advantages to riding a bus, not the least of which is not having to fret about parking. I am unemployed and I suppose my time is now cheaper. But I simply cannot justify to myself the massive amounts of time required to get from point A to point B by bus when the same trip by car lasts only 1/6 the time. The Los Angeles MTA has not yet invented a way that one can work on one's laptop while riding its buses and, while Alma and I would surely enjoy the additional time we spent together getting to and from the beach by bus, by the time we had completed our walk, and with three hours for the bus ride factored in, we would be looking at spending upwards of 5-6 hours for each beach walk. And that kind of time means we might also need to start worrying about dining options while out, another expense we cannot easily afford while I am unemployed.
As for riding a bicycle to the beach, the thought is tempting. However, Los Angeles is a motorized city and has almost no bike paths once one leaves the coast. Any time you ride a bike on the streets of LA, you place your life at risk. Not so much because the bicyclist is unsafe. Rather, motorists here seem particularly out of tune with anything not powered by an internal combustion engine.
So for safety and time savings, taking the car is really the only way to go in Los Angeles. But this choice brings up the bane of every Southern California motorist's existence: parking. We have developed quite a ritual in our search for the perfect parking spot.
Parking at a public or private lot at the beach can cost a lot. During the high summer months on weekends, a spot in the beach lots can run as high as $20 for all day parking. Even during the off-season, I have seen the parking go as high as high as $10. My unemployed status means I look for free parking whenever possible. So Alma and I always try first to park on Strongs Dr., a little side street about four blocks from the beach, so that we can walk down any of several pedestrian walkways that lead to the beach.
In order to find parking on Strongs Dr during the summer months, we found that we needed to arrive there after 5:30 p.m. when most beach goers had left or were in the process of leaving. Now that the high season has ended, though, we almost always find a parking spot there no matter what time of day we arrive.
However, if there is no parking on Strongs Dr., we have discovered several other no- and low-cost alternatives. Pacific Avenue, for example, runs parallel to the beach all the way from Washington Blvd. northward from Marina del Rey to Santa Monica. There is free street parking on either side of the street all along the way. If we are lucky and there has been no parking available on Strongs, we might find a spot on Pacific Ave. Failing that, after we have driven north past the famous Windward Circle that is the central hub of Venice Beach, we arrive at Brooks Ave. A sharp right onto Brooks takes us across the north-south artery Main St and onto Abbot Kinney Blvd. where we may also find free street parking.
The problem with the Pacific Ave and Abbot Kinney possibilities is that Alma and I, interlopers from outside the area, must compete for spots with residents who live there. Venice takes a laissez-faire approach to parking, unlike its more militant sister Santa Monica, so that interlopers and residents in Venice have equal claim on any free street parking spots. However, in our experience, residents have already taken most of the spots on most days before we ever arrive.
So we will then continue northward down Main St. to the border of Santa Monica and Venice. If we are lucky we might find a free spot on Santa Monica's 2nd St (which turns into Venice's Hampton Dr once one crosses the border). Or if we are lucky we might a free spot on Santa Monica's 3rd St. (which becomes Venice's 3rd Ave). More often than not, we must park on the Venice side of the border, because Santa Monica reserves street parking for its residents after 6 p.m. And Santa Monica's parking enforcement is notorious for religiously enforcing its post-6 p.m. residents0only policy. Tickets range from $40-$60 for a single violation. Venice has no such restrictions on non-residential parking.
Finally, if all the free spots are taken, metered parking is available for quite reasonable hourly rates of $0.75/hour, just west of Main St and just north of Pier Ave, at the southern edge of Santa Monica. Two caveats: first, the meters allow only three hours of parking, so one must plan one's excursions carefully and second, the meters take only coins, so one must make sure one has ample change with one to feed the meters or run the risk of afore-mentioned $40-$60 violations.
Taken all together, we find that a single round trip with gas and metered parking included runs us no more than $5. If we find free parking, the single round trip cost drops to about $2.50, ironically about $1 less than the cost for two round trip bus trips.
We usually try to decipher the weather we will encounter at the beach before we leave each day so that we can choose the appropriate attire. During the high summer months, most often I wear shorts, a t-shirt and tennis shoes. Alma chooses between a skirt and sun dress but will also occasionally wear shorts. If the weather looks a bit chilly or cloudy, I will invariably wear jeans or sweat pants and a sweatshirt. Alma will almost always wear the same.
We must also decide what we will carry and what we will leave behind. I usually carry a sport bottle filled with fruit juice and ice from which we can both drink when thirsty. I also carry a recycling bag for any detritus we might find on the walk and for our socks and shoes should we decide to walk shoeless.
Finally, we must decide in which direction to start. When beginning at Catamaran Street, one of the pedestrian walkways that leads from Strongs Dr to the ocean, Alma and I usually start by walking south 1 mile, then turning and walking north 1.5 miles, before returning to our jumping off point with a .5 mile walk south. At other beaches, however, we might start by walking north on the first leg with our final leg being southward back to our jumping off point.
As I wrote this today, I struggled to find some deeper meaning to it all, some sort of transcendence to the dull routine of preparing to walk each day. While certain portions of what I have detailed here partake of ritual -- the preparation of the sports bottle comes to mind, as does the drive down Washington Blvd towards the Pacific before embarking on the search for parking -- I find that these preparations, while absolutely necessary to a successful walk, do not have much redeeming social value. Maybe I am tired and unable to see beyond the mundane details for the bigger picture. Or maybe their significance resides in their very mundaneness. I do not know, but I detail them here so that my readers will understand a little more the preparations Alma and I make each day prior to beginning our daily walks.
A bus ride to the beach in Los Angeles, however, is not always a simple matter. Alma and I live in Westchester, close to a couple major bus lines, but neither line goes straight to the beach. Instead, each bus travels to a central hub, from which we must transfer twice more to end at the beach we prefer. I am not opposed to buses in principle and have used them regularly in the past to commute to various jobs. And I would gladly take one to the beach, were it not that the bus ride each way lasts about 90 minutes (or 3 hours round-trip), when I can easily reach that same beach by car in 15 minutes each way, or one-sixth the time.
I will grant you that there are many advantages to riding a bus, not the least of which is not having to fret about parking. I am unemployed and I suppose my time is now cheaper. But I simply cannot justify to myself the massive amounts of time required to get from point A to point B by bus when the same trip by car lasts only 1/6 the time. The Los Angeles MTA has not yet invented a way that one can work on one's laptop while riding its buses and, while Alma and I would surely enjoy the additional time we spent together getting to and from the beach by bus, by the time we had completed our walk, and with three hours for the bus ride factored in, we would be looking at spending upwards of 5-6 hours for each beach walk. And that kind of time means we might also need to start worrying about dining options while out, another expense we cannot easily afford while I am unemployed.
As for riding a bicycle to the beach, the thought is tempting. However, Los Angeles is a motorized city and has almost no bike paths once one leaves the coast. Any time you ride a bike on the streets of LA, you place your life at risk. Not so much because the bicyclist is unsafe. Rather, motorists here seem particularly out of tune with anything not powered by an internal combustion engine.
So for safety and time savings, taking the car is really the only way to go in Los Angeles. But this choice brings up the bane of every Southern California motorist's existence: parking. We have developed quite a ritual in our search for the perfect parking spot.
Parking at a public or private lot at the beach can cost a lot. During the high summer months on weekends, a spot in the beach lots can run as high as $20 for all day parking. Even during the off-season, I have seen the parking go as high as high as $10. My unemployed status means I look for free parking whenever possible. So Alma and I always try first to park on Strongs Dr., a little side street about four blocks from the beach, so that we can walk down any of several pedestrian walkways that lead to the beach.
In order to find parking on Strongs Dr during the summer months, we found that we needed to arrive there after 5:30 p.m. when most beach goers had left or were in the process of leaving. Now that the high season has ended, though, we almost always find a parking spot there no matter what time of day we arrive.
However, if there is no parking on Strongs Dr., we have discovered several other no- and low-cost alternatives. Pacific Avenue, for example, runs parallel to the beach all the way from Washington Blvd. northward from Marina del Rey to Santa Monica. There is free street parking on either side of the street all along the way. If we are lucky and there has been no parking available on Strongs, we might find a spot on Pacific Ave. Failing that, after we have driven north past the famous Windward Circle that is the central hub of Venice Beach, we arrive at Brooks Ave. A sharp right onto Brooks takes us across the north-south artery Main St and onto Abbot Kinney Blvd. where we may also find free street parking.
The problem with the Pacific Ave and Abbot Kinney possibilities is that Alma and I, interlopers from outside the area, must compete for spots with residents who live there. Venice takes a laissez-faire approach to parking, unlike its more militant sister Santa Monica, so that interlopers and residents in Venice have equal claim on any free street parking spots. However, in our experience, residents have already taken most of the spots on most days before we ever arrive.
So we will then continue northward down Main St. to the border of Santa Monica and Venice. If we are lucky we might find a free spot on Santa Monica's 2nd St (which turns into Venice's Hampton Dr once one crosses the border). Or if we are lucky we might a free spot on Santa Monica's 3rd St. (which becomes Venice's 3rd Ave). More often than not, we must park on the Venice side of the border, because Santa Monica reserves street parking for its residents after 6 p.m. And Santa Monica's parking enforcement is notorious for religiously enforcing its post-6 p.m. residents0only policy. Tickets range from $40-$60 for a single violation. Venice has no such restrictions on non-residential parking.
Finally, if all the free spots are taken, metered parking is available for quite reasonable hourly rates of $0.75/hour, just west of Main St and just north of Pier Ave, at the southern edge of Santa Monica. Two caveats: first, the meters allow only three hours of parking, so one must plan one's excursions carefully and second, the meters take only coins, so one must make sure one has ample change with one to feed the meters or run the risk of afore-mentioned $40-$60 violations.
Taken all together, we find that a single round trip with gas and metered parking included runs us no more than $5. If we find free parking, the single round trip cost drops to about $2.50, ironically about $1 less than the cost for two round trip bus trips.
We usually try to decipher the weather we will encounter at the beach before we leave each day so that we can choose the appropriate attire. During the high summer months, most often I wear shorts, a t-shirt and tennis shoes. Alma chooses between a skirt and sun dress but will also occasionally wear shorts. If the weather looks a bit chilly or cloudy, I will invariably wear jeans or sweat pants and a sweatshirt. Alma will almost always wear the same.
We must also decide what we will carry and what we will leave behind. I usually carry a sport bottle filled with fruit juice and ice from which we can both drink when thirsty. I also carry a recycling bag for any detritus we might find on the walk and for our socks and shoes should we decide to walk shoeless.
Finally, we must decide in which direction to start. When beginning at Catamaran Street, one of the pedestrian walkways that leads from Strongs Dr to the ocean, Alma and I usually start by walking south 1 mile, then turning and walking north 1.5 miles, before returning to our jumping off point with a .5 mile walk south. At other beaches, however, we might start by walking north on the first leg with our final leg being southward back to our jumping off point.
As I wrote this today, I struggled to find some deeper meaning to it all, some sort of transcendence to the dull routine of preparing to walk each day. While certain portions of what I have detailed here partake of ritual -- the preparation of the sports bottle comes to mind, as does the drive down Washington Blvd towards the Pacific before embarking on the search for parking -- I find that these preparations, while absolutely necessary to a successful walk, do not have much redeeming social value. Maybe I am tired and unable to see beyond the mundane details for the bigger picture. Or maybe their significance resides in their very mundaneness. I do not know, but I detail them here so that my readers will understand a little more the preparations Alma and I make each day prior to beginning our daily walks.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Dune Report
"Brisk" ... "Bracing" ... "Blustery"
All words used to describe last night's walk on the beach.. Wind gusts from the north-northeast at up to 40-50 mph. Steady breezes of 20-25 mph.
When we got home from our 3-mile walk last night, I was curious to see how hard the wind had been blowing. I came across this online alert from the National Weather Service:
URGENT - WEATHER MESSAGE
NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE LOS ANGELES/OXNARD CA
355 PM PST MON NOV 8 2010
...GUSTY WINDS WILL AFFECT PORTIONS OF SOUTHWEST CALIFORNIA
THROUGH TONIGHT...
...GUSTY NORTHWEST WINDS ARE DEVELOPING ACROSS MUCH OF THE
SOUTHLAND TODAY. WIND GUSTS BETWEEN 35 AND 50 MPH WILL BE COMMON
ACROSS THE ADVISORY AREAS WITH GUSTS TO AROUND 60 MPH EXPECTED
Walking on the beach in such stiff winds differs significantly from most of the beach walks I detail. Most of the time, the ocean and beach are very placid. The breezes, such as they are, typically blow gentle and warm. But last night's walk was entirely different. It was nature "red in tooth and claw" (or the nautical equivalent thereof). A wild, savage beauty.
I never intended this blog to become an episodic chronicle of our daily adventures on the beach, a sort of "What I Did On My Summer Vacation" day-by-day account. Actually, though, my very first post "Inspector of Sand Dunes" (November 3, 2010) did suggest that this would be my purpose:
But as I have begun to post daily, and as I have continued to re-read Thoreau's Walden, my purpose has changed and evolved. I now realize that I do not want my blog to be merely an online diary or journal of day-to-day events. Yes, I want to focus on the beach and our walks there and how those beach walks affect Alma's art and my healing. But I also want this blog to provide a snapshot of what it's like to live with an artist and how doing so changes one's way of seeing and being. Finally, I want this blog to offer a profound meditation on the world we live in now and the world I would like to live in. For those of you tiring of the blow-by-blow accounts, have patience, for you will see a change come upon this blog. For those of you who enjoy the blow-by-blow accounts, do not despair, as they will not be departing entirely
Along those lines, I shall henceforth publish periodic 'Dune Reports' that attempt to capture events of specific beach walks. I think once or twice a week should suffice for your inspector's reports on the condition of the dunes. The word "dune" is actually something of a misnomer, as I understand the term, for a dune is a sand formation that has been shaped by the wind and elements over the millenia. As it happens, the beaches at Venice, Santa Monica and Marina del Rey are regularly groomed by members of the municipal Beaches and Harbors Department. Although the grooming happens very early in the mornings apparently, the sand is raked almost every day. Frequently, at night, we can still see the tracks of the tractors they use to rake the sand.
Last night, we began our walk at 4:15 and ended at 6:00 p.m. Now that Daylight's Savings Time has ended, the sunsets happen at around 5 p.m. each day. By 6 p.m., it is now fairly dark on the beach. We typically walk a south-north route, starting by walking 1 mile south, continuing next with a 1.5 mile leg north, capped by a final .5 mile leg south back to our jumping-off point. (This augmented 3-mile trek honors the blog having received its 5th follower a few days ago.) After we finished the first southward leg and had turned northward for the second leg, we could both feel the extra effort walking into the stiff northerly wind required. At one point, while we were still walking southward on the first leg, we crossed paths with someone walking north who had not come prepared. This person, a young Asian lady in her 30's I would guess, had both hands over her ears and looked like she was in extreme agony. Alma told me I looked like an old sea dog as I strode along.
The sand on the hard pack had crusted over because of all the wind yesterday. A few words on the geography of the beach: From the parking lot and paved ocean walk the first 30 yards or so are what Alma and I call 'soft pack,' sand that is loose and that readily gives way under foot. Walking in the 'soft pack' generally requires far more effort than walking in the hard pack, which begins about eight yards from the water's edge depending on the position of the tide. In fact, when exercising, Alma and I recommend that people walk in the soft pack because it requires so much additional effort to move one's feet along and through the sand.
Typically, the transition from soft pack to hard pack manifests gradually and you have to look for it to see the transition point. Not so last night, however. Whether because of the violent winds or because of the driven waves, the sand transitioned abruptly from soft pack to hard pack with these little hard-edged walls or 'shelves' of sand about 1 foot high. Alma took the position that these shelves were created by the wave action, whereas I argued that it was the wind constantly eroding loose granules of sand that caused the phenomenon.
Alma pointed out that she needed to take pictures at different times to capture the orange and blue color contrasts. According to Alma, the vertical shelf was orangish in hue, whereas the softpack further away from the ocean was a beautiful dark blue. Well, I could see the orange in the vertical shelf but the 'blue' Alma claimed to see, I did not see with my naked eye. However, when you examine this photo, sure enough the soft pack to the left of the vertical shelf appears blueish in tint.
As we walked on the hard pack, we could see loose sand granules blowing over the hard pack. It was a very beautiful sight -- it actually looked like sheets of sand were swirling about atop the hard pack. That loose sand seemed to hug the ground closely. None of it got in my eyes and Alma did not report any in her eyes either.
Last night's was the first walk on which we found nothing to bring home with us for Alma's art. Perhaps, as Alma pointed out, the blowing sand had covered anything of interest. Fewer and fewer people are coming to the beach each day as the days shorten and winter approaches, so there will be less and less detritus until next spring.
But if we did not find anything usable to bring home with us, we saw sights that made the walk worthwhile. We had a minimalist sunset. The gusty winds accompanied clear skies so, except for a smattering of clouds directly overhead and a few heavier clouds in the far west, there was little for the sunset to project onto. But the clear skies made for excellent shadows upon the sand. As you can see, your Inspector of Sand Dunes casts a mighty long shadow, as does his illustrious sidekick and brilliant artist companion.
Even with a minimalist sunset, though, the pinks of the sunset reflected onto the wet sheen on the hardpack closest to the water's edge. The spirits alive in the world and the universe use the beach as their canvass.
After we reached the end of the 1.5 mile northward leg and had turned and begun the final .5 mile leg southward to our jumping off point, we both noticed the tiniest sliver of moon visible in the west-southwest quadrant of the clear sky. Alas, Alma had used up all the memory on her phone by that point and could take no further pictures. With the wind at our backs, the sound of the waves crashing to our right and the crescent moon visible ahead, we finished our walk and headed back to the car.
All words used to describe last night's walk on the beach.. Wind gusts from the north-northeast at up to 40-50 mph. Steady breezes of 20-25 mph.
When we got home from our 3-mile walk last night, I was curious to see how hard the wind had been blowing. I came across this online alert from the National Weather Service:
URGENT - WEATHER MESSAGE
NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE LOS ANGELES/OXNARD CA
355 PM PST MON NOV 8 2010
...GUSTY WINDS WILL AFFECT PORTIONS OF SOUTHWEST CALIFORNIA
THROUGH TONIGHT...
...GUSTY NORTHWEST WINDS ARE DEVELOPING ACROSS MUCH OF THE
SOUTHLAND TODAY. WIND GUSTS BETWEEN 35 AND 50 MPH WILL BE COMMON
ACROSS THE ADVISORY AREAS WITH GUSTS TO AROUND 60 MPH EXPECTED
Walking on the beach in such stiff winds differs significantly from most of the beach walks I detail. Most of the time, the ocean and beach are very placid. The breezes, such as they are, typically blow gentle and warm. But last night's walk was entirely different. It was nature "red in tooth and claw" (or the nautical equivalent thereof). A wild, savage beauty.
I never intended this blog to become an episodic chronicle of our daily adventures on the beach, a sort of "What I Did On My Summer Vacation" day-by-day account. Actually, though, my very first post "Inspector of Sand Dunes" (November 3, 2010) did suggest that this would be my purpose:
During this year, I hope to publish daily accounts of my wife Alma's and my perambulations upon Venice Beach as we gather materials for her art and exercise to defeat the nicotene demons.
Along those lines, I shall henceforth publish periodic 'Dune Reports' that attempt to capture events of specific beach walks. I think once or twice a week should suffice for your inspector's reports on the condition of the dunes. The word "dune" is actually something of a misnomer, as I understand the term, for a dune is a sand formation that has been shaped by the wind and elements over the millenia. As it happens, the beaches at Venice, Santa Monica and Marina del Rey are regularly groomed by members of the municipal Beaches and Harbors Department. Although the grooming happens very early in the mornings apparently, the sand is raked almost every day. Frequently, at night, we can still see the tracks of the tractors they use to rake the sand.
Last night, we began our walk at 4:15 and ended at 6:00 p.m. Now that Daylight's Savings Time has ended, the sunsets happen at around 5 p.m. each day. By 6 p.m., it is now fairly dark on the beach. We typically walk a south-north route, starting by walking 1 mile south, continuing next with a 1.5 mile leg north, capped by a final .5 mile leg south back to our jumping-off point. (This augmented 3-mile trek honors the blog having received its 5th follower a few days ago.) After we finished the first southward leg and had turned northward for the second leg, we could both feel the extra effort walking into the stiff northerly wind required. At one point, while we were still walking southward on the first leg, we crossed paths with someone walking north who had not come prepared. This person, a young Asian lady in her 30's I would guess, had both hands over her ears and looked like she was in extreme agony. Alma told me I looked like an old sea dog as I strode along.
The sand on the hard pack had crusted over because of all the wind yesterday. A few words on the geography of the beach: From the parking lot and paved ocean walk the first 30 yards or so are what Alma and I call 'soft pack,' sand that is loose and that readily gives way under foot. Walking in the 'soft pack' generally requires far more effort than walking in the hard pack, which begins about eight yards from the water's edge depending on the position of the tide. In fact, when exercising, Alma and I recommend that people walk in the soft pack because it requires so much additional effort to move one's feet along and through the sand.
Typically, the transition from soft pack to hard pack manifests gradually and you have to look for it to see the transition point. Not so last night, however. Whether because of the violent winds or because of the driven waves, the sand transitioned abruptly from soft pack to hard pack with these little hard-edged walls or 'shelves' of sand about 1 foot high. Alma took the position that these shelves were created by the wave action, whereas I argued that it was the wind constantly eroding loose granules of sand that caused the phenomenon.
Sand Shelf - November 8, 2010
Alma pointed out that she needed to take pictures at different times to capture the orange and blue color contrasts. According to Alma, the vertical shelf was orangish in hue, whereas the softpack further away from the ocean was a beautiful dark blue. Well, I could see the orange in the vertical shelf but the 'blue' Alma claimed to see, I did not see with my naked eye. However, when you examine this photo, sure enough the soft pack to the left of the vertical shelf appears blueish in tint.
As we walked on the hard pack, we could see loose sand granules blowing over the hard pack. It was a very beautiful sight -- it actually looked like sheets of sand were swirling about atop the hard pack. That loose sand seemed to hug the ground closely. None of it got in my eyes and Alma did not report any in her eyes either.
Last night's was the first walk on which we found nothing to bring home with us for Alma's art. Perhaps, as Alma pointed out, the blowing sand had covered anything of interest. Fewer and fewer people are coming to the beach each day as the days shorten and winter approaches, so there will be less and less detritus until next spring.
But if we did not find anything usable to bring home with us, we saw sights that made the walk worthwhile. We had a minimalist sunset. The gusty winds accompanied clear skies so, except for a smattering of clouds directly overhead and a few heavier clouds in the far west, there was little for the sunset to project onto. But the clear skies made for excellent shadows upon the sand. As you can see, your Inspector of Sand Dunes casts a mighty long shadow, as does his illustrious sidekick and brilliant artist companion.
Even with a minimalist sunset, though, the pinks of the sunset reflected onto the wet sheen on the hardpack closest to the water's edge. The spirits alive in the world and the universe use the beach as their canvass.
After we reached the end of the 1.5 mile northward leg and had turned and begun the final .5 mile leg southward to our jumping off point, we both noticed the tiniest sliver of moon visible in the west-southwest quadrant of the clear sky. Alas, Alma had used up all the memory on her phone by that point and could take no further pictures. With the wind at our backs, the sound of the waves crashing to our right and the crescent moon visible ahead, we finished our walk and headed back to the car.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Alma Embraces Stone
After Alma and I had walked the beach for about 2 weeks, we began to notice that on certain days the ocean seemed to have thrown up small, flat black stones onto the beach. We are still unclear where these stones come from, whether heaved from the earth after underwater seismic activity or perhaps spewed from the same off shore underwater vents that spew the black gobs of tar that frequently wash up on the beach.
When we first encountered these small, flat black stones, Alma immediately considered them a possible ingredient for mosaics. And so we began to collect them whenever we came upon them. They were not there every day and no specific event occurred to cause the stones to show up on any given day. Furthermore, they would show up in patches. Some days, we could walk 500 paces without seeing a single stone but plenty of the globules of tar. Then suddenly, the black globules of tar would be gone and instead it would appear as if the beach was checkerboarded for another 500 paces with these flat, black stones.
Alma could not use every stone. She could not use most stones. The ones she could use had to meet two basic criteria: flat and black. Many of the stones were black but round like your garden-variety rock. Many of the stones were flat but were slightly off black or even other colors like red or brown. I would estimate that we selected one out of every 100 stones for use in her mosaics.
And here is how an artist works with raw materials. Each day that we found these stones on the beach, we would bring home a few handfuls that we had winnowed. Once home, Alma would take them out on our balcony so they could thoroughly dry out. She then would sit with a 12 x 12 canvass and endlessly arrange and re-arrange the stones on the canvass, seeking the best fit and further winnowing the harvest. As it happened, not every stone could find a place on the canvasses and often there would be holes in the fill that had to wait for another 2 or 3 trips before we found exactly the right stone to fill them.
Once Alma had the right set of stones for a given canvass, my role was pretty much done. Alma first applied a substance called CellUClay to the entire surface of the canvass. CellUClay, a greyish-white fibrous substance somewhat akin to papier mache, was essential to stiffen the canvass so that it could support the weight of the stones. Next, Alma took a hot glue gun and glued the stones to the canvass. After the glue had dried and the stones set, Alma used a black Sharpie pen to draw the outlines of two figures embracing on the stones and painted one of the two figures blue and the other silver. The final step, once the paint had dried, was to apply CellUClay to the gaps between the stones, so that the CellUClay between the stones appeared pristine white.
I did not have the presence of mind to take pictures of Alma while she was at work, so the only pictures I have are ones taken after she completed the works just last week. However, I observed her closely while she was working and am always amazed when I think of the attention to detail required to get every aspect of these pieces exactly right. I would not have the patience for it myself and, in fact, I get a bit impatient even watching Alma's endless tinkering and meticulous detailing. It would be fair to say that she is happiest while she is creating, but I am happiest when the creations are complete and ready for my eyes to feast.
And here is the final result:
If these pieces do not sell, they are destined to hang on either side of the head of our bed. As you might imagine, each one weighs about 10 pounds with all the stones, so we will have to exercise a little additional care in how we hang them, given Southern California's proclivity for earthquakes. It would be tragic were one to come crashing down onto Alma's or my heads.
They really are spectacular. If anyone reading this has any interest in purchasing one or both pieces (Stone Cold Embrace 1 and Stone Cold Embrace 2), please let me know via posting a Comment on this post or becoming a Follower. I will be in touch.
When we first encountered these small, flat black stones, Alma immediately considered them a possible ingredient for mosaics. And so we began to collect them whenever we came upon them. They were not there every day and no specific event occurred to cause the stones to show up on any given day. Furthermore, they would show up in patches. Some days, we could walk 500 paces without seeing a single stone but plenty of the globules of tar. Then suddenly, the black globules of tar would be gone and instead it would appear as if the beach was checkerboarded for another 500 paces with these flat, black stones.
Alma could not use every stone. She could not use most stones. The ones she could use had to meet two basic criteria: flat and black. Many of the stones were black but round like your garden-variety rock. Many of the stones were flat but were slightly off black or even other colors like red or brown. I would estimate that we selected one out of every 100 stones for use in her mosaics.
And here is how an artist works with raw materials. Each day that we found these stones on the beach, we would bring home a few handfuls that we had winnowed. Once home, Alma would take them out on our balcony so they could thoroughly dry out. She then would sit with a 12 x 12 canvass and endlessly arrange and re-arrange the stones on the canvass, seeking the best fit and further winnowing the harvest. As it happened, not every stone could find a place on the canvasses and often there would be holes in the fill that had to wait for another 2 or 3 trips before we found exactly the right stone to fill them.
Once Alma had the right set of stones for a given canvass, my role was pretty much done. Alma first applied a substance called CellUClay to the entire surface of the canvass. CellUClay, a greyish-white fibrous substance somewhat akin to papier mache, was essential to stiffen the canvass so that it could support the weight of the stones. Next, Alma took a hot glue gun and glued the stones to the canvass. After the glue had dried and the stones set, Alma used a black Sharpie pen to draw the outlines of two figures embracing on the stones and painted one of the two figures blue and the other silver. The final step, once the paint had dried, was to apply CellUClay to the gaps between the stones, so that the CellUClay between the stones appeared pristine white.
I did not have the presence of mind to take pictures of Alma while she was at work, so the only pictures I have are ones taken after she completed the works just last week. However, I observed her closely while she was working and am always amazed when I think of the attention to detail required to get every aspect of these pieces exactly right. I would not have the patience for it myself and, in fact, I get a bit impatient even watching Alma's endless tinkering and meticulous detailing. It would be fair to say that she is happiest while she is creating, but I am happiest when the creations are complete and ready for my eyes to feast.
And here is the final result:
Stone Cold Embrace I
Stone Cold Embrace 2
If these pieces do not sell, they are destined to hang on either side of the head of our bed. As you might imagine, each one weighs about 10 pounds with all the stones, so we will have to exercise a little additional care in how we hang them, given Southern California's proclivity for earthquakes. It would be tragic were one to come crashing down onto Alma's or my heads.
They really are spectacular. If anyone reading this has any interest in purchasing one or both pieces (Stone Cold Embrace 1 and Stone Cold Embrace 2), please let me know via posting a Comment on this post or becoming a Follower. I will be in touch.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
If I Lead, Will They Follow?
Today marked a milestone of sorts for this blog, as it acquired its fifth 'follower'. I had told Alma that as soon as the blog crossed that threshold, I would be willing to extend our walks to a third mile. That we did today. We were rewarded with perhaps the best sunset we have had since we began walking in June. The day did not promise to start out that way.
Due to the switch from Daylight Savings Time last night, we arrived at the beach today at about 3:30 p.m. (about an hour earlier than we were arriving before the switch to DST). When we arrived, the sky was socked in with ominous looking rain clouds. The sun was not shining and, in fact, the skies appeared as if rain was imminent. We decided to give the walk a go anyway. Much to our surprise and relief, about 30 minutes in, strangely, the skies at the western most horizon cleared somewhat of clouds and the sun began to shine through them, warming us and giving us the bright light Alma needs so badly.
But the clouds remained in the rest of the sky, which proved to our advantage when it came to the sunset. Because those clouds became a canvass on which the sun could paint as it fell into the far western horizon. It was simply amazing to see how the sky pinked up in every direction. The photos below will give you a sense of what we saw. Had we not walked the extra mile today, we would not have seen this sunset. We did our standard roundtrip from the pier at Washington Boulevard to the Villa Marina breakwater, but upon our return walked a further half-mile north from the pier to an unnamed breakwater where the big lifeguard administration building and tower is and then a half-mile back. That final mile is where we witnessed the full glory of today's sunset.
So, thank you to the 'Gang of Five.' as I refer to my first group of followers. One of you jokingly remarked the other day that signing up to become a follower reminded you of joining a cult. Were I to start a cult, what would be its tenets? Well, my cult would thoroughly repudiate the world of commerce and consumption. So I would insist that any members of my cult commit to spending at least an hour a day completely "off the grid," whether that be at the beach with me and my acolytes or in your own particular space. In fact, I would demand that my cult members renounce the consumption and materialism that seem to characterize so much of modern life. I suppose I would also demand that each of my cult followers blog or journal daily about his or her activities, thoughts and feelings.
Henry David Thoreau has always struck me as the type of figure suitable to lead a cult. Thoreau's rugged and militant individualism strongly suggests that he would have been very uncomfortable as the head of any movement of followers. And yet that same uncompromising individualism would draw others to him like a candle flame draws moths.
In his later years,Thoreau attached himself to the anti-slavery\abolitionist cause with some zeal. This leads to what may seem a decided contradiction in his life and work, I guess. Thoreau strongly endorsed the ill-fated violent insurrection at Harper's Ferry of abolitionist John Brown. But in other parts of his life and work, Thoreau seems to endorse only non-violent resistance. So at least on one central issue in his life and work, whether the use violence is justified to resist injustice, Thoreau seems to want to have it both ways. (While I admire and respect John Brown, I pretty much come down on the non-violent side of this spectrum, as I think that violence usually tends to beget only more violence.)
By these standards, I suppose I would make a good cult leader. My life is and has been a contradiction and any of my acolytes expecting much internal consistency from me will look in vain. Likewise, I have spent about 1/2 of my adult life protesting non-violently against various Republican Presidents (Reagan, George H.W. Bush and, most recently, George W. Bush) with a zeal that approaches Thoreau's. Finally, I think I know how to save the world if it will only let itself be saved.
Care to join my cult? Become my follower and you will be amply rewarded.
Due to the switch from Daylight Savings Time last night, we arrived at the beach today at about 3:30 p.m. (about an hour earlier than we were arriving before the switch to DST). When we arrived, the sky was socked in with ominous looking rain clouds. The sun was not shining and, in fact, the skies appeared as if rain was imminent. We decided to give the walk a go anyway. Much to our surprise and relief, about 30 minutes in, strangely, the skies at the western most horizon cleared somewhat of clouds and the sun began to shine through them, warming us and giving us the bright light Alma needs so badly.
But the clouds remained in the rest of the sky, which proved to our advantage when it came to the sunset. Because those clouds became a canvass on which the sun could paint as it fell into the far western horizon. It was simply amazing to see how the sky pinked up in every direction. The photos below will give you a sense of what we saw. Had we not walked the extra mile today, we would not have seen this sunset. We did our standard roundtrip from the pier at Washington Boulevard to the Villa Marina breakwater, but upon our return walked a further half-mile north from the pier to an unnamed breakwater where the big lifeguard administration building and tower is and then a half-mile back. That final mile is where we witnessed the full glory of today's sunset.
Sunset at Venice Beach - Novembe 7, 2010
So, thank you to the 'Gang of Five.' as I refer to my first group of followers. One of you jokingly remarked the other day that signing up to become a follower reminded you of joining a cult. Were I to start a cult, what would be its tenets? Well, my cult would thoroughly repudiate the world of commerce and consumption. So I would insist that any members of my cult commit to spending at least an hour a day completely "off the grid," whether that be at the beach with me and my acolytes or in your own particular space. In fact, I would demand that my cult members renounce the consumption and materialism that seem to characterize so much of modern life. I suppose I would also demand that each of my cult followers blog or journal daily about his or her activities, thoughts and feelings.
Henry David Thoreau has always struck me as the type of figure suitable to lead a cult. Thoreau's rugged and militant individualism strongly suggests that he would have been very uncomfortable as the head of any movement of followers. And yet that same uncompromising individualism would draw others to him like a candle flame draws moths.
In his later years,Thoreau attached himself to the anti-slavery\abolitionist cause with some zeal. This leads to what may seem a decided contradiction in his life and work, I guess. Thoreau strongly endorsed the ill-fated violent insurrection at Harper's Ferry of abolitionist John Brown. But in other parts of his life and work, Thoreau seems to endorse only non-violent resistance. So at least on one central issue in his life and work, whether the use violence is justified to resist injustice, Thoreau seems to want to have it both ways. (While I admire and respect John Brown, I pretty much come down on the non-violent side of this spectrum, as I think that violence usually tends to beget only more violence.)
By these standards, I suppose I would make a good cult leader. My life is and has been a contradiction and any of my acolytes expecting much internal consistency from me will look in vain. Likewise, I have spent about 1/2 of my adult life protesting non-violently against various Republican Presidents (Reagan, George H.W. Bush and, most recently, George W. Bush) with a zeal that approaches Thoreau's. Finally, I think I know how to save the world if it will only let itself be saved.
Care to join my cult? Become my follower and you will be amply rewarded.
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