chacal-la-chaise :: alternative world for that cat up a tree

The Seven Words

nobody@vox.com(chacal-la-chaise) — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 21:26:36 -0600

RIP
George Carlin

Seven Words

Baseball and Football

Pro Life is Anti-Woman - George Carlin

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Bloomsday 2008 and Wordle

nobody@vox.com(chacal-la-chaise) — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 18:25:42 -0600

Bloomsday 2008

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Ruben Salazar

nobody@vox.com(chacal-la-chaise) — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 12:18:46 -0600

Ruben Salazar Stamp

Ruben Salazar mural at Lincoln Park

It's amazing what happens when you decide to buy stamps. Last night, I ran out of stamps for my graduation invitations. It was then that I decided to order more (at 11:30 pm) from the USPS store. When I went there, I looked at the new .42 stamp designs.

That's when saw them--stamps honoring American journalists. Looking at the five--Martha Gellhorn, John Hersey, George Polk, Ruben Salazar, and Eric Sevareid--I was very surprised and happy to see someone, who to me, is perhaps the bravest journalist along side of of Ernie Pyle. Killed in California by the FBI, as he was doing his job, Ruben Salazar is being honored this week not only by the US Postal Service, but also by UTEP for his brave actions and excellent reporting skills. Born in Cd. Juarez, Salazar was a journalism graduate of Texas Western College, which now known as UTEP.

Not only a credit to journalism, but he is also a hero to the Latino/a community and all El Paso/Juarez citizens. Before now, one would have to know there is a room named Salazar on the UTEP campus, or see the freeway support mural at Lincoln Park to easily know about Salazar. But now, all can have a piece of Ruben Salazar when they pay a bill or mail a letter to a friend and send his story and image around the world.

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A morning of accidents and visiting

nobody@vox.com(chacal-la-chaise) — Thu, 03 Apr 2008 12:32:59 -0600

If it were not for accidental timing, flat tires, and gasoline leaks, I would not have met Rick Burch, bassist, and his "employee" Michael at the Starbucks on Kirby this morning.

Rick Burch and Michael

In all actuality I mostly likely would have not seen my friend David, and worse case, my car could have blown up when I started it this morning. The thing is, little bits of time added up which allowed me to meet and chat with Rick and Michael, talk to my friend David, and finally, have my car's gas tank lid tightened by Lenny, another good friend. It was the morning of cheerful guys doing what they like, and me getting a cheap gasoline high.

This all began because I was running a little late this morning (as usual), and yet in actuality, I need not have worried because Lenny was not where he was supposed to be this morning after all. You see, my car was leaking gasoline; two little spots on the concrete had over night grown into two larger spots. The smell of gasoline permeated my car's interior when I got in, and ended up with a cheap high at 9:00 am.

Last night we discovered the leak issue and I called Lenny to see if he would be available today to check the fuel lines and gas tank; unfortunately, he said he was going to have an alligator day and could not guarantee anything. However, he did say he would let us know if the problem was bad enough that the car might blow up the next time we started it. In any event, he was nowhere to be found this morning. But I was not worried; I just drove past, turned onto Myrtle Street, and then hung a right on Virginia where I pulled over and gave Lenny a call. I was hoping on the off chance he would arrive soon, but no luck. He said he was getting a new tire for his Rover and that it would be about 45 minutes before he arrived. I told him I would get breakfast first and be back in about an hour or so.

Choosing to drive to the Kirby Starbucks, I decided to sit outside with my latte and scone. I never sit outside and later I

no parking

wondered what prompted me to do so. Perhaps it was the cool morning, and the patio being in the shade; there was a light breeze with hardly anyone outside. That certainly helped my headache. In any event, it was no time before David appeared and said hi. Standing tall with his familiar salt and pepper hair and big friendly grin, he towered above me. A few years ago, he and I used to work together--he did the hard stuff, the coding, while I did the design work for corporate intranet projects. He looked the same as always and we chatted about Macs and our children for a few minutes. Then, as quickly as he had appeared, he had to leave; things to do, people to see. He said goodbye and I resumed reading my RSS feeds and throwing scone crumbs on the patio for the sparrows.

In a few minutes, two guys pulled up on knockabout racing bikes. Locking up, they went inside for drinks, then returned and pulled up chairs next to the windows behind me. They chatted to one another about what would be the best way to ride back to where they started; whether they should ride on Paisano, Texas, Copia, or some other way. One used a Blackberry to map their journey, and there was talk about the zoo, an unnamed venue, and more about which way to go. It was then that I turned around and asked if they had recently moved to the area. No, they said, we're in a band that is playing here tonight. But they had forgotten the venue's name. By the zoo, I asked? Yes. That's the Coliseum I said. Yes, that's right, they nodded. What band, I asked? Jimmy Eat World, one said. Oh, I didn't know you were playing here tonight, I confessed.

We continued to talk about bands and how my cousin Gabe Gonzalez used to tour with At the Drive-In, as their sound man and backup keyboardist, about Jim Ward and his new band Sleepercar, and about what SXSW had become. One noted Jim's new Texas tour and album, and I recalled how Gabe had experienced, what Michaela described as, a "Richie Valens flight" that put him off touring forever. The two band members remembered the time, saying they totally understood. Australia they noted. Yes, I replied. We then talked about projects that the original band had spawned: Sparta, The Mars Volta, and Ward's work with my friend Bobby Byrd of Cinco Puntos Press, in addition to the new Sleepercar.

We resumed talking about the best way to get back to the venue and I cautioned them that Paisano was busier and hillier than Texas Avenue, which eventually turned into Alameda; Paisano always has a lot of truck traffic that is headed into Mexico. They agreed they would go back the way they came, which was on Texas-Alameda.

I also talked about Michaela and Shannon's blog, The Rich Girls Are Weeping, and how Lauren, at Michigan State, has now started attending shows and taking pictures of bands for her Facebook album. That being a good segue, I asked if I could take their picture, to which they said no problem.

Afterwards, we all left at the same time as the pedaled down Mesa towards Texas Avenue, and me headed in the same direction to go to Lenny's. This is how little bits of my morning time added up, and allowed me to see my friend David, and meet and talk to Rick Burch and his "employee" Michael from Jimmy Eat World, a band that will perform tonight at the venue across from the zoo.

Oh, and the car--Lenny tested the fuel tank's "lid" that is accessed from inside the trunk. He described how it "works exactly like a mason jar" lid, which he then tightened. It should be fine now, unless there is another leak in the fuel line. And if so, I'll be back again.

In any event, the band will play on tonight.

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Notes about my research at the downtown El Paso public library

nobody@vox.com(chacal-la-chaise) — Mon, 31 Mar 2008 17:12:06 -0600

Although the Writing Center clipping file provided original copies of articles with the date and periodical name, the clipper did not note where in the articles were located, such as what page and section number. In order to utilize the sources (with many good quotes from professors, students, and the president at that time,) I decided to check the public library microform collection of local daily newspapers. While they did not have copies of the university paper, The Prospector, they did have The El Paso Times and Herald Post archives on microfilm.

Founded in 1881, The El Paso Herald Post is generally thought by many, to have been the better of the city’s two papers—better writers, editors, and even its layout was progressive, cleaner, more readable than the Times--although some would from time to time, liken its overall content to manure (The Herald Compost).

Film-and-reel

But as evening paper readership declined as well as the general loss of readers as a whole, this resulted in a general loss of advertising revenue for the two dailies, and eventually, cuts were made and the papers even tried utilizing the same printing operation. Eventually, the Times won battle and the war for city new readers, and the Herald ended its long and award-winning run on October 11, 1997. Yet this was not good news for either the Times or the city as the war came at a tremendous cost—it eventually lost its autonomy and became so much fodder for Gannett newspapers, although now it publishes through a partnership with Media NewsGroup. On a brighter note, the Herald is not totally lost, although not many digital archives are available. (But more on that later.) The El Paso Public Library has both local newspapers on microfilm, along with a collection of films from the New York Times that stretches back to the late 1800s. And while this is a time consuming way to conduct research, for years, microforms were the only format available aside from the much admired bound books that Nicholson Baker writes. While new articles are now published directly to the Internet, they still have their drawbacks that are similar to the old style microforms archives.

According to Baker in his book Double Fold, rolls of microfilm and transparencies of microfiche will, as also newsprint, decay—film becoming scratched and torn through use and eventually to become lost. And while there are efforts to digitize newspaper archives (converting such microforms to zeros and ones), problems created within the filmic bits remain, mainly due to the fact that not all of the newspaper pages (which do include supplements and advertisements) made it through the scanning or photographic processes. Surprisingly, this exact problem is what I encountered as I searched for my articles last week—whether they were in sections B or C, whether within page x or y.

In my case, I discovered one page from the El Paso Times, dated January 16, 1977, had never been scanned! There it was, Section B, yet page 4 or 5 was not numbered and the other (4 or 5) missing. The film skipped from numbered page 3 to numbered page 6. Now, you could say it does not matter, that an accompanying article was on the unnumbered page, and therefore it makes sense that my article was on the other page. In other words, just declare the missing page number 5. However, that is not the point. The point is that our Writing Center has (for all we know) holds the only copy of the article outside of the Times’ morgue. While this is not an earth-shattering article without byline, it does have value and adds to the conversation about writing (tutoring) centers as situated within its various tangential communities of universities, students, faculty, researchers, and other writing and tutoring centers.

So far it seems, however, this article and page with its adverts, and other news have vanished, which is what Baker explains has happened all too often with the microform archival process—pages skipped; only the late or final editions archived—interim editions eliminated--erased from history and memory. And while I had read this paper tiger's explanation about such problems, never for a second did I ever believe I would see such results, where, in the context of doing research and needing a simple page number within a specific section. It is here, therefore, that originally started in a Scrivener file, that now is this lengthy blog entry that I explain why I am having to “guess,” “fudge,” and by all accounts lie about the section and page number for the articles, “UTEP concerned About Lack Of Students’ Reading Skills,” dated January 16, 1977, from The El Paso Times.

This afternoon I emailed the Times requesting the missing information I need. Given the context, which is my use of the article, coupled with the current state of public higher education, more “modern” technology (read Internet) used to archive periodicals, and the subject of the article, this does effect lives today especially when (at least at this moment in time) the students being written about are now the parents of students attending college.

Microfilm-reader

As for the experience of working with the microfilm readers, it was the same as it ever was except for the fact that I did not have to go down to the dungeon and share space and air with homeless old men—yes, they are almost always men. In tatters, they sit, with their greasy shopping bags at their sides, they spend their days reading from or sleeping among the daily newspapers. While the men are still there reading papers in a brighter and more open space, it does not mask nor hide the fact that there are still homeless men, reading to pass the time, sleeping during the day while others sit apart, sifting through old Comgraphix microfilm boxes, looking for articles not there. While the men read, I look around and see several decades full of dust and dirt around the base of the reader trolleys. It seems that they just transferred the readers, en masse from storage and then brought them up to the new space without ever thinking that they could use a thorough dusting/cleansing. Yes, the rolling chairs are new, but the readers, their trolleys, and their printers are filthy—old with library basement dust from two floors down, at least 20 years old. I know they are over 20 because I used to work for the sister company of Comgraphix (Mino-Micrographix) when I was pregnant with the Judge.

Now I am not complaining that the library ever invested in microforms. What I am wondering about if the second effect of the Internet will eventually and totally erase the memory of the El Paso Herald Post and its filmic morgue—are film readers still being manufactured? What happens when the film degrades and we can no longer read through the tipsy and dusty film readers? Is there an effort to transfer films to digital archives? Or is there not enough money for this either. At least for now I have contacted this subscription based archival web site and asked if they will complete these newspapers archives. Right now, they have a couple of years for each, but nothing near what their combined 200+ years of publishing history could hold for students, researchers, writers, and historians.

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animator versus animated

nobody@vox.com(chacal-la-chaise) — Wed, 20 Feb 2008 12:18:43 -0700

this video was sent to me from my friend david. i haven't seen something so fresh since bambi versus godzilla.

Animator vs. Animation by *alanbecker on deviant ART

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what moms do for their kids

nobody@vox.com(chacal-la-chaise) — Tue, 19 Feb 2008 22:31:25 -0700

This ad may have been paid for by the Pat Haggerty campaign , but thanks to You Tube anyone can view it anytime. Unfortunately for Pat, I will not be voting Republican in the Texas primaries to be held March 4.

Haggerty ad1

Instead, I'll be standing in the other line. What I must write about now is what I think my in-laws would say if they could see Mrs. Haggery standing up for her son, Pat. Not only being a momma lion, she is also helping her son get reelected to the to Texas 78th District, which is a good thing. I remember my mother-in-law Lucille say Mrs. H ruled her roost and that she was a pistol. But then again, so was my mother-in-law.

Steely eyed moms rule the roost. Women who survived so much--the great depression, marriage for over 50 years, raising kids on a noncoms salary, and the separation and worry that come with war. They are fast disappearing. Some will say they are the greatest generation, which is what sons are supposed to think their parents are from. I was not surprised to see her with her nicely coifed silver hair sitting next to Pat in front of a roaring fire. She's just doing what must be done to see through the end of each day. That's why I was glad to see the Haggerty ad. She's doing what she thinks is necessary because she believes her son to be a good and true man.

Some will say if you use your mom then your campaign then you are in trouble. Some will say Mrs. H should have included Bob Craddick's title (Texas Speaker of the House.) But that's nit picky stuff. The fact is that the ad works. It's short, clever, and to the point. Pat didn't have to say much, he let him mom lay into his opponent. She quickly calls attention to Tom Craddick and the big money trying to buy Texas State Representative District 78 seat. And he lets her have the best line ever, "I have a carton of milk that has been in the district longer than (his opponent.)"

And, thanks mom, is all he need say.

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New experiences, new interfaces

nobody@vox.com(chacal-la-chaise) — Thu, 24 Jan 2008 16:23:27 -0700

This is my first time using my new Mac Powerbook, and the first time using WriteRoom to compose anything. Both provide what I have sought for a long time; first there is the ritualized act that accompanies one when acclimating to any new laptop, must less a new operating system altogether. Then there is typing with a blank/black screen--no menus visible unless I needed to see them. As I use WriteRoom, I don’t believe (or at least I do not want to know) if there is anything similar in the PC world that I have left for now. I am just inside a blackness with letters, lines, a cursor box, and nothing else. When I stop or hesitate, the box stops and does not blink at me because I instructed the program not to blink. The words, originally neon green, were toned down and the text is Futura 12.

There are only the words, the screen, and me. Words that begin flowing from fingertips. No distractions; not even the remastered Grace, by the late Jeff Buckley playing in the background can sway me from concentrating on the screen--mustard words and green thoughts, and the glossy black screen that reflects the mulberry tree branches outside my bedroom window.

It is peaceful, it is visually quiet--the first in a long while. Just words, Buckley’s amazing voice that croons, sails high, and crashes as he screams--a blues guitar riff and me. I think the tenitis in my ears is fading too. Amazing what a black screen can do

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of fences and mending walls

nobody@vox.com(chacal-la-chaise) — Thu, 06 Dec 2007 19:20:48 -0700

in the parlance of el paso spanish/spanglish, this is our "toma" for today, aimed at washington, dc, fly-over states, and anyone else yammering for "building fences." funny how on first reading people misinterpret frost's poem, in any event, this npr article is on the money. now if only faux news and crappy news network would listen. i'm not holding my breath though, terror warnings drives media and advertising revenue today. that and the inability of aging man to shoot below the hip.

Border Residents Craft an Appeal for More (and different forms of) Security

Mending Wall by Robert Frost

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors'.
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows?
But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me~
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."

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red tape

nobody@vox.com(chacal-la-chaise) — Mon, 12 Nov 2007 11:16:38 -0700

Journalism 1973

Loretto journalism, 1973 by
carolyn rhea drapes (jackson) is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

i had a request from a friend to use this image for her thesis. ;)

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