Journal of an Urbane Gorilla

Here's to rosy-fingered dawns

Sometimes the rosy-fingered dawn just hits you upside the head. Well, this is exactly what happened the other day here in Santa Tourista. Grams goes to work at an ungodly hour. I usually skip this ritual, but the other day, after an overnight rainstorm, it looked like the sun might provide us with a little eye candy, so I went along for the ride. Hoochie mama!

One of the reasons I like living near the ocean is because there’s so much weather. When I first met Grams and Big Guy they lived down south of here in a huge metropolis. There was no weather there. I mean no weather. It was either sunny and cloudless, or grey. And I’m talking about solid grey. It was the most boring sky I’ve ever seen. When there was a storm, there was no way to see the edge of it. It was like sitting in a bowl of grey air.

So, when we moved to Santa Tourista, I was thrilled. It wasn’t the proximity to the ocean. I don’t do water at any level. It’s just not my thing. No, I was thrilled because I knew there would be weather here. Grams had told me that Santa Tourista was the only place she had ever been where it can rain while the sun is shining. Of course she's traveled a bit now, thanks to moi, and has seen this phenom elsewhere. But, she’s right. It happens all the time in Santa Tourista.

But the best thing is that when it does rain, the sky isn’t a solid grey. Clouds move through here and winds come up and blow through. Then, afterwards, the sky is the most brilliant blue. There are fantastic sunsets too.

Of course there are places that we’ve been that have incredible weather. Ireland and Wales come to mind. I’ve taken many pictures there of amazing skies. But, it’s nice to actually live in a place where the sky can make you happy just to be alive.

Happy Birthday, Eleanor.

A dopo e Moochas smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

The long and winding road

The classic definition of a city is that it is at a crossroads of commerce, it should have a port, and it will (since the early part of the 20th century) have tall buildings that proclaim the wealth and energy of the city.

I think that the ultimate definition of a modern city, though, is its subway. If the skyscrapers are the visible signs of a city’s wealth and strength, the subways are the veins, arteries and central nervous system.

There’s a pulse and a pressure in the tunnels of the subway. The tiled walls and floors lead you down to place where there is always warmth. In the summer, it’s a warmth that is sometimes more than you can bear. In the winter, however, it’s a warmth that shakes off the chilblains that attack your body at the street level. In the winter, the heat of the subway is as comforting as home.

Of course in order to feel this embrace, you must live in a city that actually feels the seasons. That’s why the pitiful little subway in Los Angeles can never affect you like the subway in New York. L.A. has glamorous stations, but it doesn’t embrace you like the N.Y.C. subway does.

In London, there are so many different subways, from so many different periods that the escalators seem to go to the centre of the earth. I got dizzy just looking down from those heights. In Madrid and Rome, the subways were a little confusing. I had to depend on the Grams to translate the station names. These were the only 2 subways where someone has attempted to mug us. Now, you’ll notice I said “attempted.” They didn’t succeed, but that’s another story for another day.

The subways of New York are my favourites. On some of the platforms in Manhattan there are some amazing art installations. My favourite is the “eyes.” But I also love the stations where the old tiles from an earlier time are so evocative. These tiles are often covered with soot, but it seems somehow right, and proper.

The tunnels leading to the platforms wind around and around. Then, there will be a staircase and the rush of hot air greets you as you descend to the platform. If the train had just left, it may a few minutes before another train appears. It’s never quiet, but for those few moments it’s calm. Then, there’s a roar and a rush of hot air and suddenly lights appear and then train is there. The doors slide open and once inside, you’re cool again.

If it’s not a peak time, not rush hour, you’ll find a seat. Then the doors slide shut. Grams likes to do Sudoku puzzles while we travel. The principessa listens to her iPod. Henri, Big Guy and I like to watch the tunnel. Sometimes we find deserted stations. Sometimes there’re adverts projected on the wall. Mostly, we keep track of the stops and then try to guess which side the door will open on.

New York wouldn’t be the city it is without its wonderful subways. They’re a treasure.

A dopo e Moochas smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

The bounce has gone out of his bungee*

Aardman Animation’s storage building burnt down early today in Bristol, England. All of the props, figures, and awards that Aardman had collected over the past 20-odd years were destroyed. A spokesman said that the piece people would miss the most was Wallce and Gromit on their motorcycle and sidecar.

Nick Park, creater of Wallace and Gromit, said it was "dreadful" news for the company, but added that in the light of other world events, "it's not a big deal".

There’s a man who has his priorities straight. Is it any wonder we love his characters and gentle humour?

A dopo e Moochas smoochas,

And now more than ever, please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

*Wallace in “A Close Shave”

Guess where I'll be today?

Need I say more? The first show is at noon. Wallace rocks! Gromit rules! And this time they have characters with lips! 'Nuff said.

UPDATE
I have now seen "Curse of the WereRabbit" twice. It is fabulous! I can't tell you how many in-jokes there are. If you love cartoons and Mel Brooks - you'll find all kinds of references. Also, a nod to Frankenstein. And on it goes. It's milk-shooting-out-of-your-nostrils funny. They managed to keep all the magic and add many nods to masters of the past. It's all that and more!
Yeah, I could go on and on - but go see it. Then, you'll understand. And stay for all the credits - 'cause there's a little joke at the end.

A dopo e Moochas smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

Little stars, big stars, blowing through the night*

Yes, this is our neighbourhood, the Milky Way Galaxy. And it’s a beautiful day in the neighbourhood. Isn’t that just amazing? The one place I know I’ll never travel is into space. But, I’d give anything to be able to travel to a nearby planet. Even better would be a nearby star.

I know, it’s just a dream. But, what are we if not our dreams? We are made of stardust after all. It’s only natural to want to see where we all began. Lost in the stars. Wouldn’t mind it.

A dopo e Moochas smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

*Lost in the Stars

Before Lord God made the sea and the land
He held all the stars in the palm of his hand
And they ran through his fingers like grains of sand
And one little star fall alone

Then the Lord God hunted through the wild night air
For the little dark star in the wind down there
And he stated and promised he'd take special care
So it wouldn't get lost again

Now, man don't mind if the stars grow dim
And the clouds blow over and darken him
So long as the Lord God's watching over him
Keeping track how it all goes on

But I've been walking through the night and the day
Till my eyes get weary and my hair turns grey
And sometimes it seems maybe God's gone away
Forgetting the promise that we heard him say

And we're lost out here in the stars
Little stars, big stars
Blowing through the night

And we're lost out here in the stars
Little stars, big stars
Blowing through the night

And we're lost out here in the stars

-Kurt Weill/Maxwell Anderson

Gone with the wind

Just to finish up the adventures on the wardrobe set man in New Mexico from yesterday. It was some time after the flood, and they were shooting near the north/south highway again. The little tear-drop caravan had to be ditched after the flood. A new trailer was brought in all the way from Tucson courtesy of a friend of the driver captain. Darryl could actually stand up in it, although he had to step outside to change his mind (rim shot please).

After finishing the morning’s work, the company headed south. This time Darryl has been pressured get the costumes out of the dressing rooms and into the trailer. The teamsters were anxious to get to the next location because the caterers were already there and the drivers were about to go into meal penalty. If they timed it just right, their meal penalty would start just before they sat down to eat. They would eat their meal and get paid the penalty too.

Darryl was in the passenger seat in the car speeding down the highway and he was worrying. Did he lock the door of the trailer? He would do what he called a, “fake lock” while they were shooting. It involved turning the lock so that it looked as if it were locked, but it wasn’t really. This time, however, Darryl couldn’t remember if he had put the lock back on at all. His fears were soon realized.

First, a raccoon coat worn by one of the stars hit the windshield. It seemed to come out of nowhere. Pretty soon wardrobe was flying at them. It looked as if some great tumbler full of clothes had dumped its contents on the north/south highway. Darryl was yelling for them to stop, but the driver wanted catch up with the wardrobe trailer and get that driver to stop. After 20 minutes, they did catch up. Darryl had put the lock on, the door had blown off. He spent the rest of the afternoon going up and down the highway looking for costumes.

Now he knew he was never doing another western.

A dopo e Moochas smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).

Beyond the blue horizon

This photo is from Grams’ collection. She took it around 35 years ago in New Mexico. Doesn’t that sky look beautiful? Sure there’re clouds, but just look at that beautiful sun. Now look at the horizon line. That is one heckuva storm coming right at you. These kinds of storms come up very fast in New Mexico. When I showed the photo to Grams it reminded her of a story about storms and arroyos.

In New Mexico there are river beds that are dry most of the time. They are referred to as, “arroyo secos” or dry riverbeds. And they are dry, most of the time. It seems that a friend of Grams’ was working on a short-lived TV series in the early 1970s called, “Bearcats!” It was a western that was set around the turn of the 20th century.

The show was on a tight budget and an even tighter schedule. They shot a lot in Old Tuscan, Arizona, but occasionally went farther a field. This particular story happened when they were shooting in New Mexico. It was all the wardrobe set man, Darryl, could do to keep up with the changes on the actors. Sometimes he actually had to put a costume on and be in the scene to catch the actors’ coats as they flung them off (something they evidently did a lot).

On this day, the company had been shooting in the barren land alongside the north/south highway and the wardrobe trailer had been parked in an arroyo. This trailer wasn’t a fancy 16-wheeler; it was more of an old ‘tear-drop’ style caravan. The kind you can barely stand up in, let alone keep track of the wardrobe for an entire show. The trailer had been parked in an arroyo. Important point that.

The company struck the set and got ready to move to the next set-up down the road. Darryl was knocking about in his trailer trying to straighten out the wardrobe and didn’t realize that everyone had left, and had left him behind.

Suddenly, a storm broke right overhead. Darryl, not being familiar with New Mexico, arroyos, or sudden thunderstorms couldn’t appreciate the precariousness of his position. Well, that was until the little tear-drop started rocking about. Darryl swung open the door and was staring right into a river that raging about him and carrying him and the little tear-drop downstream.

His first thought was, “Where did that river come from? We didn’t park in a river.” Then, the water started to toss him around. It was coming in the trailer. He was holding on to the doorframe and screaming. He yelled for help, but all he could hear was the roar of the water.

Then, after about 20 minutes, the rain stopped just as suddenly as it had started. The water in the arroyo started slowly to drain away. Darryl started bailing out the tear-drop with a Stetson. After another half hour, the teamsters came back looking for Darryl. He was still soaking wet and was ringing out costumes. “Hey Darryl, looks like you went for a little ride!” they laughed. They pulled the trailer out of the arroyo, hooked it up and off they went. The unit manager was upset that wardrobe was holding production. Everyone else had a good laugh. Darryl swore he'd never do another western.

A dopo e Moochas smoochas,

Please give what you can to Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders).