More bragging--just call me Nietzsche!
Jul. 20th, 2007 08:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
philenaFirst things first: First of all, there was an earthquake this morning! A big one, too, which woke me up and had Daniel out of bed and squawking before we even realized what happened. You may read more about it here. (Warning: there are pop-ups) Fortunately, there was no damage in our house (however dramatically it may rattle), beyond the fall of Maria Tsvetaeva, who, at roughly half an inch high, is the innermost little figure of Daniel's Russian literary matryoshka set. (The outermost is Pushkin, who measures in at nine and a half inches.)
Second things second, although this may soon become first: Second, I have received confirmations from 4 of the 6 professors at Cornell and Harvard (and these were the best 4) that they are happy to meet with me and talk to me about grad school when I go next week to see about getting myself a doctorate. Ideally I'd be able to see a class, too, but that's not so possible in the summer, so scratch that.
Many things many-enth: Many-enth, last week Daniel and I went on a road trip!
We started out last Tuesday by driving up Highway 101, past vineyard after vineyard, over and under and through and past enormous hills lined with livestock and progressively greener vegetation. We had planned to stop in a little town called Garberville, right before the beginning of the redwood state parks, planning to see the redwoods the next day. This plan became a little less well thought out in practice, than in theory, though, because redwoods are not great respecters of park boundaries, and we missed quite a few of them that night, from what we could tell of enormous trunks briefly illuminated by the headlights at 11:00pm as we slogged on towards our hotel. However, the next day we drove through the Avenue of the Giants, a 36-mile stretch of scenic highway that weaves in and out of even more redwoods than we missed the previous night, and, although they are not as huge as giant sequoias, they are pretty remarkable, especially when they have fallen, or are going to fall. They are normally so straight and so tall that even the slightest lean is magnified remarkably, and Daniel and I took great delight in pointing out inclining trunks and pronouncing variations on, 'Going down!' We also, as always, took many pictures of which you are about to partake:
This puppy was just a tree by the road, and Daniel was overcome with tree love.
I was overcome a few trees later.
After the Avenue of the Giants we drove to Orrick and thence down a long, winding, narrow, mostly unpaved road to get to a beach where there were rumored to be elk. We saw no elk there, but there was a canyon entirely blanketed with ferns, called, appropriately enough, Fern Canyon, and it was pretty remarkable, as the photographic evidence below will show.
First, proof that I was there. Note the ferns behind me.
Next, proof that Daniel was there.
They just go on and on.
And up.
Then, on the way back we did see elk! Two of them! These are the Roosevelt elk, not the wimpy little Tule elk that live nearer to us in Point Reyes. These were enormous! We took many more pictures, believe me, but they didn't all turn out as well.
Then, on the way back, a petrified stump decided to wander out into the center of the road (well, it closer to the center of the road at any rate than it was to a safe 10 feet away from the edge), and we destroyed the wheel of our tire, which promptly lost air pressure and went flat. And then began the saga of the tire, which was really a saga of all those disgustingly heart-warming stories one reads about in advice columns. Less than a minute after we realized the wheel was dead, a state park fellow happened along a corner, got out, and changed our tire for us (teaching us how to do it in the meantime.) Then we limped to the nearest visitor's center, where they called around, found us a Les Schwab in Crescent City, gave us directions, told them we were coming, and dispensed maps and encouragement. Then, at Les Schwab, the manager, Mike, who helped us, did not have another wheel to give us, so he took our dead wheel, a huge hammer, and bashed it back into a roughly circular shape, which allowed him to reinflate the tire (which was fortunately undamaged) so we could get along to Ashland, our ultimate destination. He also called ahead to the tire place in Ashland to have them hold a wheel for us and reinflated our spare tire (just in case), and for all this help he charged us not a whit. A good man, that Mike. We had given the state park guy who changed the tire some cookies, but we were out of cookies by the time we got to Crescent City, so Mike had to go hungry. Daniel and I will get in touch with the Les Schwab corporate office and tell them to give him a raise or a promotion or a commemorative pen or something.
So on to Ashland we went, for the Oregon Shakespeare Festival! That was the ostensible reason for our visit, because Daniel's mother had gotten a hold somewhere of some free ticket vouchers, although we ended up doing a lot of things other than play-watching. The plays were good, though. We saw As You Like it the first night, and although I had some artistic differences with how it was produced, the writing was so good that we enjoyed it immensely. They had reset it in Depression-era America, so in the place of whatever manual labor Orlando was originally made to do, he now loaded warehouses and oil drums, and the usurping duke ran something like a mafia gang. In general this did not work so well, because it's ridiculous for girls to talk like dressing up like boys in doublet and hose when in fact they are wearing overalls and kerchiefs, but the moment when Charles the wrestler comes to warn Orlando's brother that he plans to kill Orlando in the wrestling match, the setting was perfect. Charles wore a big long white fur coat (I could easily imagine the big limo backstage that had delivered him) and put on such a city-thug accent that the big Shakespearean words coming out of his mouth made him sound like those delightfully sesquipedelian gangsters in Guys and Dolls.
The other play we saw was Tom Stoppard's On the Razzle, and although it had elements of his wit and cleverness, the same jokes were repeated too often and the overall treatment was too zany. I mean, it was fun, but not something I'd see again or really recommend to anyone else. It felt more like something he'd dashed off on a cocktail napkin late one night than anything he'd really spent some time on. So I'll leave it there and move on.
While we were in Ashland we were close enough to Crater Lake to take a day trip there. Crater Lake was formed when an enormous volcano exploded and the caldera filled up with rainwater and snow melt, forming the deepest (over 1900 feet in spots) lake in America and one of the deepest in the world. It is also one of the most pristine and the bluest, and also very cold. Daniel and I did not let that last point deter us, although he let it not deter him more than I let it not deter me. As always, photographic evidence is shown below.
Proof that I was there:
Proof that the cutie was there:
Yes, it really is that blue.
That blue too. This picture was taken from partway down the Cleetwood trail, the only safe way down from the rim of the caldera to the water. Perhaps this limited access might explain the continued purity of the water.
As we got to the bottom and the afternoon wore on, a bit of haze came into the sky, which steeled the blue a bit.
We did not let that deter us, as I mentioned before, from swimming. Briefly.
The rocks around the beach had been baking all day in the sun, and as soon as I got out I hopped up on a rock and basked like a lizard, which was wonderful. This picture is also a good example of the mechanics of sun protection. See, I had put sunblock on as much of my back as I could reach, and that evening I discovered not only a lovely pink burn in exactly those areas I couldn't reach, but also an unburned strip right down the center, which I attribute to my braid.
We also stopped to get gas, and all over the gas station were these perched bugs. I asked inside what they were, and the older attendant lady told me that they were Pandora moths. I asked if they were pests, and she responded by giving me a brief, scientific synopsis of their life style. The younger girl there, however, told me, "at night they swarm," so I came to the conclusion that they were not welcome by all. This picture cannot quite convey how thickly they covered the gas pumps and poles and lights and everything, nor the vast numbers which had perched on the ground and become mashed by cars, but it is, as you might be anticipating, photographic evidence that they were there.
These are some of the wildflowers that grew along the side of the road, side by side with leftover banks of snow that hadn't quite melted, although the weather was easily 75 degrees and sunny. I don't have any pictures of it here, but the side of the road that was not lakey was easily as beautiful as the lakey side, because we were, after all, on the side of a mountain.
On the way back we took the fast route, going straight down Interstate 5, which is a boring stretch through the central valley of California. Before it turns dull, however, it passes Mount Shasta, which was well worth a few stops and pictures.
Then it got dark and boring so we drove until we got home. Good night!
Second things second, although this may soon become first: Second, I have received confirmations from 4 of the 6 professors at Cornell and Harvard (and these were the best 4) that they are happy to meet with me and talk to me about grad school when I go next week to see about getting myself a doctorate. Ideally I'd be able to see a class, too, but that's not so possible in the summer, so scratch that.
Many things many-enth: Many-enth, last week Daniel and I went on a road trip!
We started out last Tuesday by driving up Highway 101, past vineyard after vineyard, over and under and through and past enormous hills lined with livestock and progressively greener vegetation. We had planned to stop in a little town called Garberville, right before the beginning of the redwood state parks, planning to see the redwoods the next day. This plan became a little less well thought out in practice, than in theory, though, because redwoods are not great respecters of park boundaries, and we missed quite a few of them that night, from what we could tell of enormous trunks briefly illuminated by the headlights at 11:00pm as we slogged on towards our hotel. However, the next day we drove through the Avenue of the Giants, a 36-mile stretch of scenic highway that weaves in and out of even more redwoods than we missed the previous night, and, although they are not as huge as giant sequoias, they are pretty remarkable, especially when they have fallen, or are going to fall. They are normally so straight and so tall that even the slightest lean is magnified remarkably, and Daniel and I took great delight in pointing out inclining trunks and pronouncing variations on, 'Going down!' We also, as always, took many pictures of which you are about to partake:
This puppy was just a tree by the road, and Daniel was overcome with tree love.
I was overcome a few trees later.
After the Avenue of the Giants we drove to Orrick and thence down a long, winding, narrow, mostly unpaved road to get to a beach where there were rumored to be elk. We saw no elk there, but there was a canyon entirely blanketed with ferns, called, appropriately enough, Fern Canyon, and it was pretty remarkable, as the photographic evidence below will show.
First, proof that I was there. Note the ferns behind me.
Next, proof that Daniel was there.
They just go on and on.
And up.
Then, on the way back we did see elk! Two of them! These are the Roosevelt elk, not the wimpy little Tule elk that live nearer to us in Point Reyes. These were enormous! We took many more pictures, believe me, but they didn't all turn out as well.
Then, on the way back, a petrified stump decided to wander out into the center of the road (well, it closer to the center of the road at any rate than it was to a safe 10 feet away from the edge), and we destroyed the wheel of our tire, which promptly lost air pressure and went flat. And then began the saga of the tire, which was really a saga of all those disgustingly heart-warming stories one reads about in advice columns. Less than a minute after we realized the wheel was dead, a state park fellow happened along a corner, got out, and changed our tire for us (teaching us how to do it in the meantime.) Then we limped to the nearest visitor's center, where they called around, found us a Les Schwab in Crescent City, gave us directions, told them we were coming, and dispensed maps and encouragement. Then, at Les Schwab, the manager, Mike, who helped us, did not have another wheel to give us, so he took our dead wheel, a huge hammer, and bashed it back into a roughly circular shape, which allowed him to reinflate the tire (which was fortunately undamaged) so we could get along to Ashland, our ultimate destination. He also called ahead to the tire place in Ashland to have them hold a wheel for us and reinflated our spare tire (just in case), and for all this help he charged us not a whit. A good man, that Mike. We had given the state park guy who changed the tire some cookies, but we were out of cookies by the time we got to Crescent City, so Mike had to go hungry. Daniel and I will get in touch with the Les Schwab corporate office and tell them to give him a raise or a promotion or a commemorative pen or something.
So on to Ashland we went, for the Oregon Shakespeare Festival! That was the ostensible reason for our visit, because Daniel's mother had gotten a hold somewhere of some free ticket vouchers, although we ended up doing a lot of things other than play-watching. The plays were good, though. We saw As You Like it the first night, and although I had some artistic differences with how it was produced, the writing was so good that we enjoyed it immensely. They had reset it in Depression-era America, so in the place of whatever manual labor Orlando was originally made to do, he now loaded warehouses and oil drums, and the usurping duke ran something like a mafia gang. In general this did not work so well, because it's ridiculous for girls to talk like dressing up like boys in doublet and hose when in fact they are wearing overalls and kerchiefs, but the moment when Charles the wrestler comes to warn Orlando's brother that he plans to kill Orlando in the wrestling match, the setting was perfect. Charles wore a big long white fur coat (I could easily imagine the big limo backstage that had delivered him) and put on such a city-thug accent that the big Shakespearean words coming out of his mouth made him sound like those delightfully sesquipedelian gangsters in Guys and Dolls.
The other play we saw was Tom Stoppard's On the Razzle, and although it had elements of his wit and cleverness, the same jokes were repeated too often and the overall treatment was too zany. I mean, it was fun, but not something I'd see again or really recommend to anyone else. It felt more like something he'd dashed off on a cocktail napkin late one night than anything he'd really spent some time on. So I'll leave it there and move on.
While we were in Ashland we were close enough to Crater Lake to take a day trip there. Crater Lake was formed when an enormous volcano exploded and the caldera filled up with rainwater and snow melt, forming the deepest (over 1900 feet in spots) lake in America and one of the deepest in the world. It is also one of the most pristine and the bluest, and also very cold. Daniel and I did not let that last point deter us, although he let it not deter him more than I let it not deter me. As always, photographic evidence is shown below.
Proof that I was there:
Proof that the cutie was there:
Yes, it really is that blue.
That blue too. This picture was taken from partway down the Cleetwood trail, the only safe way down from the rim of the caldera to the water. Perhaps this limited access might explain the continued purity of the water.
As we got to the bottom and the afternoon wore on, a bit of haze came into the sky, which steeled the blue a bit.
We did not let that deter us, as I mentioned before, from swimming. Briefly.
The rocks around the beach had been baking all day in the sun, and as soon as I got out I hopped up on a rock and basked like a lizard, which was wonderful. This picture is also a good example of the mechanics of sun protection. See, I had put sunblock on as much of my back as I could reach, and that evening I discovered not only a lovely pink burn in exactly those areas I couldn't reach, but also an unburned strip right down the center, which I attribute to my braid.
We also stopped to get gas, and all over the gas station were these perched bugs. I asked inside what they were, and the older attendant lady told me that they were Pandora moths. I asked if they were pests, and she responded by giving me a brief, scientific synopsis of their life style. The younger girl there, however, told me, "at night they swarm," so I came to the conclusion that they were not welcome by all. This picture cannot quite convey how thickly they covered the gas pumps and poles and lights and everything, nor the vast numbers which had perched on the ground and become mashed by cars, but it is, as you might be anticipating, photographic evidence that they were there.
These are some of the wildflowers that grew along the side of the road, side by side with leftover banks of snow that hadn't quite melted, although the weather was easily 75 degrees and sunny. I don't have any pictures of it here, but the side of the road that was not lakey was easily as beautiful as the lakey side, because we were, after all, on the side of a mountain.
On the way back we took the fast route, going straight down Interstate 5, which is a boring stretch through the central valley of California. Before it turns dull, however, it passes Mount Shasta, which was well worth a few stops and pictures.
Then it got dark and boring so we drove until we got home. Good night!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-07-21 04:35 pm (UTC)are you going to be in Ithaca? let me know. I'm in Florida (long story) but can give you lots of tips, fun trails to hike, places to swim, tasty things to eat...the like.
miss you much!
no subject
Date: 2007-07-21 04:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-22 05:24 pm (UTC)