Pacific Time

Here in the lobby of the WorldMark timeshare resort in Oceanside, California (not far from the Camp Pendleton Marine Base), they're piping in Christmas music over the speakers. Does this reflect a festive holiday spirit, a chronic lack of imagination...or a worldwide plot to encourage me to buy a gift today? Probably all three.

Got off a big Royal Caribbean cruise ship yesterday morning in San Pedro, after a four-day voyage that took my family to San Diego (and my first visit to the San Diego Zoo in 26 years), Catalina Island (where my son and I built a fine sand castle) and Ensenada, Mexico (my first steps on Mexican soil), where we went downtown and to an oceanside open-air market about 15 miles out of town -- I landed a souvenir coffee cup and a rock from a jagged (and littered) shore. A STOP sign is an ALTO sign south of the border, but there's plenty that's bilingual in Ensenada, like the signs of the Costco and Burger King there.

As for the cruise itself, it was just okay. I sound like a spoiled curmudgeon, I know, but I'd much rather spend much of my downtime in quiet vegging mode, reading and listening to music -- and you can't really do much of that on a cruise, especially when you have kids. On a cruise, it's mostly about the activities and the crowds of people one must hang with to get to them and participate in them.

Bah humbug to most of that, although I did do a few ship activities. I swam and danced a little. Shot hoops and played ping-pong. Played a silly TV theme-song game with my wife and other couples on board. And struggled to get to the top of a rock-climbing wall on the ship. My 10-year-old son got to the top quicker, and I pulled a muscle in my thumb. I felt embarrassed that I am in such bad shape that a "beginner" climb took all of my efforts.

The food, however, was most excellent, as it has been on all three cruises we've been on. It will be hard to swear off cruises completely, because my wife loves that she doesn't have to cook or clean on board. Can't say that I blame her there.

I'm proud of the way my daughter handled herself pretty much like an adult on the cruise. It's a relief to know that she can do her own thing on these trips, and you generally don't have to worry about her.

I just got back from the Oceanside beach with my son -- a wonderful experience in the afternoon late-autumn California sun, although when we stepped onto the two long rows of big rocks that protrude from the shoreline near our resort, I often felt nervous he or I would slip and fall.

When I've been able to break away, I've listened to the "Trip South" CDs I made from songs downloaded on the home computer, and read from these three books:

*Steve Salerno, SHAM: How the Self-Help Movement Made America Helpless

*Harry G. Frankfurt, On Bullshit

*Mel Blanc and Philip Bashe, That's Not All Folks! My Life In The Golden Age of Cartoons and Radio

So far, the Blanc autobio (which I've read parts of before) is holding my interest the most, although it's pretty much a light-as-a-feather read. I'm fascinated with just about anything Looney Tunes, and that Blanc grew up in my hometown of Portland just adds to the interest. The book on the self-help movement is preaching to a willing choir with me, a former est participant and Tony Robbins tape consumer, but it's not telling me much I didn't already know or suspect. And the Bullshit book is a great idea, but I'm afraid it's lost me with its academic and technical analysis of the dishonesty and disingenousness that make up the phenomenon of bullpuckey.

Now we're into part two of the vacation, which will continue tomorrow with a drive up to Fontana to visit to my mom, her husband, and my last surviving grandparent. Now 91, the kids' last surviving great-grandma is apparently well enough that we can pay her a visit at her apartment.

On Monday, we'll go to Legoland California; Tuesday and Wednesday will be spent at the Disneyland Resort, hopping back and forth between the Disneyland Magic Kingdom and Disney's California Adventure. We had dinner at the Rain Forest Cafe at Downtown Disney yesterday evening.

I expect there'll be at least a few vacation photos worthy of sharing on the blog, once I can get them scanned back home. In the meantime, here are four vacation pics from the Greg T. archives to tide my loyal readership over:



Legoland California roller coaster, April 2002.



Empress Hotel High Tea, Victoria BC, January 2005.



Family photo on Alaskan cruise, September 2002.



Disney World Magic Kingdom, September 1998.


Click on photos to enlarge.

West Wingnuttery

Fitzmas was a bit of a downer for me. Any day that keeps Karl Rove's fat ass walking the halls of the White House is a bad day for America, and I wasn't happy he was allowed, for now, to keep working there. Jane at firedoglake intelligently opines that Rove is far from free and clear, so one can hope his departure from the Bush Administration is still possible in the not-too-distant future, and still could cause his boy George to politically implode (love those Nixonian approval numbers) even more.

Bush's implosion is going beyond the political into the personal, if we are to believe the reports that Wonkette and others in Blogistan have noted. Pass the popcorn.

I'd like to think the Money Men regret putting their money on this crazy-ass horse, just to get their blessed tax cuts and deregulation, but I'm afraid many of them are about as lost in personal hubris as Bushie is. They'll either happily follow him off the cliff, or (perhaps falsely) believe they have the ability to put people in power who will balance out his excesses, when the time is right. Because they're achievers, donchaknow.

I wouldn't bet Bush will suffer a dramatic Nixonian fall from power, however. His life dynamic is largely about avoiding the hard edge of accountability, and in that regard, his presidency is no different a situation than his past failures, when he was always rescued by family and friends. Someone will cover for his ass, always.

Bush will get less of a smackdown than he deserves...but those around him won't avoid smelling the stench of his failure, as that is a big part of his life dynamic as well. Arrogance and sloth will define him to the end.

Decade

By the time I turned 10 in June 1972, I was so soaked in self-indulgent love of media that I attached the media's emphasis on the decade concept to my own personal history. Hitting the decade mark became a big deal -- so big, that when I woke up on my birthday, I excitedly told my eight-year old brother in the bed next to mine, "I'm 10 now!" His response was that of most sane people: Who cares?

My son Andrew, who turns 10 this weekend, will likely not be as attached to media definitions of chronological importance, thank dog. He will, however, no doubt be excited by the birthday hoopla -- presents, going to see the new Harry Potter movie, leaving for a family vacation -- and why not? Ten is prime time to enjoy the perks of middle-class childhood, if you're lucky enough to get them. And after age 10, there isn't much time left before signs of adolescence start to creep in, and the whole buddy-buddy/lovey-dovey dynamic with parents gets overshadowed by a new rebellious (and necessary) declaration of independence.

Nevertheless, I will remain stubbornly sentimental about the many fun and loving moments of his first ten years. His emerging creative talents (he's working on a "Dragon Quest" illustrated book now), his goofy and surreal sense of humor, his sense of style and cool...and just being there, as a student, helper and pal.

A couple of Andrew snapshots I very much like:



With dad on first birthday, 1996.




With Tiger and Arnie at Madame Tussauds Las Vegas, 2004.

Click on photos to enlarge.

I'll close with two of my favorite Andrew memories:

1996-97: Andrew was at that age, between one and two, where children can talk but they haven't quite mastered sentence structure yet. So it was unexpected when we were hanging out, he and I, and all of a sudden he grabs my head and pulls his face next to mine and starts singing me a song: Pretty...today. Pretty...today. Perhaps you had to be there, but his sudden command of expressive songwriting just blew me away, like where did that come from?

2005: Just this month, in fact. I got into one of my depressive funks, where I go away and lay on the floor in the dark somewhere, because I can't handle being with anyone. Andrew came into where I was laying down, and with a great combo of warmth, tact and intelligence talked me through it so I could get up and hang out with the family again. I don't think there's anyone I know who could've done it better. Again, perhaps you had to be there, but I was impressed. If the artist thing doesn't work out, perhaps a career in therapy might work for him.

Lines In The Sand

A man of letters and anesthetics.
Down that blurred yellow hallway.
Back to the work. Back to work. Back.

William Windom is Rag!

Let's see the heat feet cobwog.
Food and sense and wan due wan.
Shaq Seetra, heart seed.

There's a lot Mr. Yesha can do, if he has planes.

Git-R-Linked

The online archive of one of my favorite political cartoonists, Tom Toles, joins the WATP list o' links.

Also added:

*For some homefront perspective, a blog by longtime Oregon political pundit Russell Sadler.

*The one and only Leonard Pierce becomes the first person to have two links on the WATP blogroll: Ludic Log returns to accompany his live journal, El Buff-Ali-Rugg's Skullbucket.

*A new find in the world of lefty political blogging, Jane Hamsher at firedoglake, who has done an exceptional job analyzing recent news in the Plamegate/Traitorgate case.

*Wikipedia, a great resource of online information about just about anything in the media environment.