The November Harper’s Magazine has an interesting memoir by poet Frederick Seidel entitled “About Motorcycles.” Identified as a “Memoir,” I had trouble believing it was entirely or even mostly true. I thought it might be some kind of rider’s fantasy disguised as autobiography. Among other things, Seidel claims that two different factories, MV Agusta and Ducati, prepared one-off street legal versions of their Moto-GP race bikes for his personal collection. Completely unlikely, especially since he describes the Agusta as a shaft drive for some reason. So far as I know, only BMW ever fielded shaft drive racing motorcycles.
Also dubious is the list of who’s who in motorcycle racing that he describes as personal friends or close acquaintences, including Agusta’s and Ducati’s factory owners, top designers, and team managers. Plus a couple of the world’s most beautiful movie stars.
But it seems likely the whole thing is true. Wikipedia provides this bit of information: “Seidel is independently wealthy-- that is to say, he inherited rather than earned his personal fortune-- and is fascinated by Ducati motorcycles, of which he owns four.”
As a reminiscence about a lifelong love of motorcycles, I don’t find it to be all that compelling and would recommend instead The Perfect Vehicle: What It is about Motorcycles by Melissa Holbrook Pierson. A girl who loves her MotoGuzzi: talk about unlikely!
Still, if you’re a rider and have an extra $6.95, you should probably pick up the November Harper’s, or just stop by and borrow mine.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Funny numbers
Conservative columnist and Weekly Standard editor William Kristol (who is now going as Bill) should not be confused with comedian Billy Crystal, even though they look a lot alike.
Bill
Billy
What are these guys, twins?
Kristol (the conservative) takes comfort in some recent poll numbers: “The Gallup poll released Monday shows the public's conservatism at a high-water mark. Some 40 percent of Americans call themselves conservative, compared with 36 percent who self-describe as moderates and 20 percent as liberals.”
So you might see this as an indication that Republicans will enjoy twice the support in coming elections that Democrats will, until you think for a minute about the 36 percent who self-describe as moderate. How much room for them is there in today’s Republican party?
Not much. Maybe not any. In what would otherwise be an obscure little congressional special election in New York, a moderate Republican actually managed to win the primary, which has now resulted in a Conservative Party challenger who has the backing of Sarah Palin, among other Republican notables. Kristol seems to things that’s okay: “A liberal Republican anointed by the GOP establishment for the special congressional election in Upstate New York will probably run third, behind the conservative Republican running on the Conservative Party line, who may in fact win.”
But if I were the non-comedian Bill, I think I’d be less comfortable with my own numbers and observations. “When asked how much confidence they had in congressional Republicans to make the right decisions for the country's future, only 19 percent of respondents expressed much confidence in the GOP -- well behind the confidence levels in congressional Democrats (34 percent) and Obama (49 percent).”
And I’d be downright worried about the cast of characters serious Bill points to as the leaders and worker bees of the New Republican Party: “The center of gravity, I suspect, will instead lie with individuals such as Palin and Huckabee and Gingrich, media personalities like Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh, and activists at town halls and tea parties. Some will lament this -- but over the past year, as those voices have dominated, conservatism has done pretty well in the body politic, and Republicans have narrowed the gap with Democrats in test ballots.”
Expect Republicans to pick up seats in the off-year congressional elections, as the minority party always does. How many they pick up will probably depend on how far they can reach beyond their base and draw in moderate voters.
If Kristol’s observations are correct, it might not be good news for the Grand Old Party and no laughing matter for moderate Republicans.
For a good laugh, I'd recommend Billy's When Harry Met Sally and especially City Slickers.
Bill
Billy
What are these guys, twins?
Kristol (the conservative) takes comfort in some recent poll numbers: “The Gallup poll released Monday shows the public's conservatism at a high-water mark. Some 40 percent of Americans call themselves conservative, compared with 36 percent who self-describe as moderates and 20 percent as liberals.”
So you might see this as an indication that Republicans will enjoy twice the support in coming elections that Democrats will, until you think for a minute about the 36 percent who self-describe as moderate. How much room for them is there in today’s Republican party?
Not much. Maybe not any. In what would otherwise be an obscure little congressional special election in New York, a moderate Republican actually managed to win the primary, which has now resulted in a Conservative Party challenger who has the backing of Sarah Palin, among other Republican notables. Kristol seems to things that’s okay: “A liberal Republican anointed by the GOP establishment for the special congressional election in Upstate New York will probably run third, behind the conservative Republican running on the Conservative Party line, who may in fact win.”
But if I were the non-comedian Bill, I think I’d be less comfortable with my own numbers and observations. “When asked how much confidence they had in congressional Republicans to make the right decisions for the country's future, only 19 percent of respondents expressed much confidence in the GOP -- well behind the confidence levels in congressional Democrats (34 percent) and Obama (49 percent).”
And I’d be downright worried about the cast of characters serious Bill points to as the leaders and worker bees of the New Republican Party: “The center of gravity, I suspect, will instead lie with individuals such as Palin and Huckabee and Gingrich, media personalities like Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh, and activists at town halls and tea parties. Some will lament this -- but over the past year, as those voices have dominated, conservatism has done pretty well in the body politic, and Republicans have narrowed the gap with Democrats in test ballots.”
Expect Republicans to pick up seats in the off-year congressional elections, as the minority party always does. How many they pick up will probably depend on how far they can reach beyond their base and draw in moderate voters.
If Kristol’s observations are correct, it might not be good news for the Grand Old Party and no laughing matter for moderate Republicans.
For a good laugh, I'd recommend Billy's When Harry Met Sally and especially City Slickers.
RIP Soupy Sales
"Soupy Sales (January 8, 1926 – October 22, 2009)[2] was an American comedian, actor, radio-TV personality and host, and jazz aficionado."
(Wikipedia)
Even his Wikipedia entry is good for some laughs:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soupy_Sales
As noted, he was also a jazz aficionado and worked a lot of music into his shows.
I was a huge fan of Soupy as a kid. It saddens me to learn he's no longer with us. I'm moving this to the top of my Netflix queue:
http://www.netflix.com/Search?v1=The%20Soupy%20Sales%20Collection&lnkce=acsEnhCk
And now, a pie in the face for God.
(Wikipedia)
Even his Wikipedia entry is good for some laughs:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soupy_Sales
As noted, he was also a jazz aficionado and worked a lot of music into his shows.
I was a huge fan of Soupy as a kid. It saddens me to learn he's no longer with us. I'm moving this to the top of my Netflix queue:
http://www.netflix.com/Search?v1=The%20Soupy%20Sales%20Collection&lnkce=acsEnhCk
And now, a pie in the face for God.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Last ride
On Friday, I leave for my motorcycle club’s annual Hardy Souls campout, held outside the town of Seneca in the Northeast mountains of Oregon. Seneca has the distinction of having the lowest temperature ever recorded in Oregon, minus 54 degrees in February, 1933. This is late October, not February, and by all the old-timers’ accounts, the winters just aren’t what they used to be. Still, in past events we’ve seen morning temperatures in the low teens, and it’s one thing to stiffly crawl out of a tent when the very ground around you is frozen hard; it’s quite another to pull on freezing clothes, get on a motorcycle, and start the long ride back home, never mind the frost on the road.
Still, it’s a grand event and one I wouldn’t miss, not just yet anyway. Last year, I was only a few weeks out of prostrate surgery, so I made the concession of going by car, for which I was richly ridiculed. This year I’ll be on my new-to-me 2006 Suzuki V-Strom, a bike built more for comfort than for speed and itself a concession to age and comfort I wouldn’t have considered even a few years ago.
But temperatures are forecast to fall only into the upper twenties with daytime temperatures approaching sixty, and already I’m making a mental list of the things I’ll take along for comfort. With the increased luggage capacity of the new bike, I’ll include a small French press and a bag of Starbuck’s so I won’t have to go from tent to tent with my begging mug and rely on the kindness of friends I’ve known for over twenty years.
Fresh hot coffee and a new bike aren’t the only concessions I’ll make for comfort. You learn a lot from experience when you travel by motorcycle for twenty-five years. In cold weather, I carry two sleeping bags, and depending on temperature, I’ll nest one inside the other or use one as a comforter. It gets cold enough inside the tent for your breath to freeze on the inside, but as long as I stay covered up, I’m deliciously warm.
For years, all my bikes have had electric grips, which keep hands from going numb and even developing frostbite, if not exactly warm and comfy. Also, I wear an electric vest which plugs into the bike’s electrical system. Again, when it’s below freezing there’s no sensation of actual warmth with these, just suffienct heat to keep your core warm enough to ward off hypothermia. The not-too recent development of toe warmers, little charcoal bags that somehow react to oxygen and toe jam, provide enough heat that toes only get cold and not downright painful.
Imagine sitting on a seat hard as a board, in twenty-degree weather and with a 70 mile-per-hour wind, and you can see that the best that can be hoped for is to be able to keep riding.
So why bother going out when I know the best I can do is to somewhat mitigate my misery? That’s hard to explain to people who don’t ride, but there’s something that-much-more exciting about beating the elements and heading out on a trip long after most riders have winterized their bikes and are home watching NASCAR. And life in camp is good. Our hosts Ed and Ellen Barton bring their truck with a hefty load of firewood and the makings of Ellen’s famous freeze-ass chili. Bjorn Klingenberg brings his vintage hand-cranked Victrola and a stack of rare and wonderful 78s featuring original recordings of World War Two-era big bands. And I get to meet and joke around with this eclectic mix of friends I’ve known for over two decades, many of them at least a few years older than me and, like me, determined to scratch out one more ride in the beautiful fall colors of the Oregon high country before the snow settles in and we have to settle for spiced cider around the fire at home.
So I can’t wait for Friday morning. When the sun gets high enough and temperatures rise into the forties and even fifties, there's no better feeling than riding fast through some of the most beautiful scenery in the West.
I think a lot recently about how much longer I’ll be able to do this. I have many friends who still ride in their sixties. Only a few still ride in their seventies, so sometime over the next few years, I’ll likely reach a point where age and good sense tell me that this part of my life is over, that this pleasure belongs to younger men. Anticipatory grief, my friend John calls it. John's a psychologist and knows about these things.
For now and for as many more years as I can still throw a leg over, I plan to keep the real grief at bay.
Still, it’s a grand event and one I wouldn’t miss, not just yet anyway. Last year, I was only a few weeks out of prostrate surgery, so I made the concession of going by car, for which I was richly ridiculed. This year I’ll be on my new-to-me 2006 Suzuki V-Strom, a bike built more for comfort than for speed and itself a concession to age and comfort I wouldn’t have considered even a few years ago.
But temperatures are forecast to fall only into the upper twenties with daytime temperatures approaching sixty, and already I’m making a mental list of the things I’ll take along for comfort. With the increased luggage capacity of the new bike, I’ll include a small French press and a bag of Starbuck’s so I won’t have to go from tent to tent with my begging mug and rely on the kindness of friends I’ve known for over twenty years.
Fresh hot coffee and a new bike aren’t the only concessions I’ll make for comfort. You learn a lot from experience when you travel by motorcycle for twenty-five years. In cold weather, I carry two sleeping bags, and depending on temperature, I’ll nest one inside the other or use one as a comforter. It gets cold enough inside the tent for your breath to freeze on the inside, but as long as I stay covered up, I’m deliciously warm.
For years, all my bikes have had electric grips, which keep hands from going numb and even developing frostbite, if not exactly warm and comfy. Also, I wear an electric vest which plugs into the bike’s electrical system. Again, when it’s below freezing there’s no sensation of actual warmth with these, just suffienct heat to keep your core warm enough to ward off hypothermia. The not-too recent development of toe warmers, little charcoal bags that somehow react to oxygen and toe jam, provide enough heat that toes only get cold and not downright painful.
Imagine sitting on a seat hard as a board, in twenty-degree weather and with a 70 mile-per-hour wind, and you can see that the best that can be hoped for is to be able to keep riding.
So why bother going out when I know the best I can do is to somewhat mitigate my misery? That’s hard to explain to people who don’t ride, but there’s something that-much-more exciting about beating the elements and heading out on a trip long after most riders have winterized their bikes and are home watching NASCAR. And life in camp is good. Our hosts Ed and Ellen Barton bring their truck with a hefty load of firewood and the makings of Ellen’s famous freeze-ass chili. Bjorn Klingenberg brings his vintage hand-cranked Victrola and a stack of rare and wonderful 78s featuring original recordings of World War Two-era big bands. And I get to meet and joke around with this eclectic mix of friends I’ve known for over two decades, many of them at least a few years older than me and, like me, determined to scratch out one more ride in the beautiful fall colors of the Oregon high country before the snow settles in and we have to settle for spiced cider around the fire at home.
So I can’t wait for Friday morning. When the sun gets high enough and temperatures rise into the forties and even fifties, there's no better feeling than riding fast through some of the most beautiful scenery in the West.
I think a lot recently about how much longer I’ll be able to do this. I have many friends who still ride in their sixties. Only a few still ride in their seventies, so sometime over the next few years, I’ll likely reach a point where age and good sense tell me that this part of my life is over, that this pleasure belongs to younger men. Anticipatory grief, my friend John calls it. John's a psychologist and knows about these things.
For now and for as many more years as I can still throw a leg over, I plan to keep the real grief at bay.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
¡Fiesta más fina!
PBS just ran a two-hour special, Latin Music USA, that was very informative but pretty much doomed by the broad topic and brief run-time. In two hours, the most they could do was introduce a few leading characters and offer only the briefest clips of their music. Thus, Dizzy Gillespie gets his rightful mention but we only hear him play a few notes. His Cuban protégé Arturo Sandoval gets considerably more time talking about what a great influence Dizzy was.
Too bad. When he was on, no one could play trumpet like Diz. No one.
Still, it’s a show worth watching if you love Latin music as I do, and I’m sure it will repeat.
And now, coming up tomorrow night (Thursday) also on PBS, a broadcast of the White House concert in honor of Hispanic Heritage Month, a “Fiesta Latina.” Marc Anthony headlines, with appearances by Los Lobos, Jose Feliciano, and many more.
I first saw Anthony in a Paul Simon tribute concert when he sang Simon’s Latin-infused hit “Late in the Evening”:
“Then I learned to play some lead guitar, I was underage in this funky bar
And I stepped outside to smoke myself a j.
When I come back to the room, everybody just seemed to move
And I turned my amp up loud and I began to play.
It was late in the evening, and I blew that room away.”
And did he ever. Then I saw him in El Cantante, the Hector Lavoe bio-pic where he proved that he could act as well.
A highlight from the White House concert, previewed on Youtube clips, is the First Family all dancing on stage. I guess they got the idea from Tom Delay doing the cha-cha on Dancing with the Stars. The President has the better moves and looks way less gay.
This should be a terrific concert.
Too bad. When he was on, no one could play trumpet like Diz. No one.
Still, it’s a show worth watching if you love Latin music as I do, and I’m sure it will repeat.
And now, coming up tomorrow night (Thursday) also on PBS, a broadcast of the White House concert in honor of Hispanic Heritage Month, a “Fiesta Latina.” Marc Anthony headlines, with appearances by Los Lobos, Jose Feliciano, and many more.
I first saw Anthony in a Paul Simon tribute concert when he sang Simon’s Latin-infused hit “Late in the Evening”:
“Then I learned to play some lead guitar, I was underage in this funky bar
And I stepped outside to smoke myself a j.
When I come back to the room, everybody just seemed to move
And I turned my amp up loud and I began to play.
It was late in the evening, and I blew that room away.”
And did he ever. Then I saw him in El Cantante, the Hector Lavoe bio-pic where he proved that he could act as well.
A highlight from the White House concert, previewed on Youtube clips, is the First Family all dancing on stage. I guess they got the idea from Tom Delay doing the cha-cha on Dancing with the Stars. The President has the better moves and looks way less gay.
This should be a terrific concert.
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
Curious George
George Will today heaps scorn on Michelle and Barack Obama, not for going to Copenhagen to promote Chicago for the Olympics, but for talking too much about themselves and for using cliches. He counts the number of personal pronouns in each speech, gives an example or two of a tired chestnut, and declares, "Their separate speeches to the International Olympic Committee were so dreadful, and in such a characteristic way, that they might be symptomatic of something that has serious implications for American governance." His stunning conclusion: The president is vain.
In his short speech, Obama begins with a little personal narrative about how he came to Chicago. He continues:
"Chicago is a place where we strive to celebrate what makes us different just as we celebrate what we have in common. It's a place where our unity is on colorful display at so many festivals and parades, and especially sporting events, where perfect strangers become fast friends just because they're wearing the same jersey. It's a city that works -- from its first World's Fair more than a century ago to the World Cup we hosted in the nineties, we know how to put on big events. And scores of visitors and spectators will tell you that we do it well.
"Chicago is a city where the practical and the inspirational exist in harmony; where visionaries who made no small plans rebuilt after a great fire and taught the world to reach new heights. It's a bustling metropolis with the warmth of a small town; where the world already comes together every day to live and work and reach for a dream -- a dream that no matter who we are, where we come from; no matter what we look like or what hand life has dealt us; with hard work, and discipline, and dedication, we can make it if we try.
"That's not just the American Dream. That is the Olympic spirit. It's the essence of the Olympic spirit. That's why we see so much of ourselves in these Games. That's why we want them in Chicago. That's why we want them in America."
Not a bad pitch, I'd say. Not a single personal pronoun for three paragraphs. But what about the cliche's? Obama, Will says, makes use of "the foggy sentimentalism of standard Olympics blather." Best to stay clear of any mention of the Olympic spirit or the character-building properties of sport.
So Will's two charges are that the president is vain and uses cliches. The horror! When can we get back to the humble presidents who have led and defined America, and who invariably spoke in strikingly original language about our values, destiny, and national character?
Will has an extended list of just those very presidents, let's see, around here somewhere, but he doesn't happen to mention any just now. And failing to give credit where credit's due, he doesn't even mention that the president was not wearing blue jeans.
Anyway, I'm on the Olympic Committee and I'm looking at Chicago/Rio... Chicago/ Rio... Chicago/Rio...
Hmmmm. . .
Ya know, I think we're going to Rio!
In his short speech, Obama begins with a little personal narrative about how he came to Chicago. He continues:
"Chicago is a place where we strive to celebrate what makes us different just as we celebrate what we have in common. It's a place where our unity is on colorful display at so many festivals and parades, and especially sporting events, where perfect strangers become fast friends just because they're wearing the same jersey. It's a city that works -- from its first World's Fair more than a century ago to the World Cup we hosted in the nineties, we know how to put on big events. And scores of visitors and spectators will tell you that we do it well.
"Chicago is a city where the practical and the inspirational exist in harmony; where visionaries who made no small plans rebuilt after a great fire and taught the world to reach new heights. It's a bustling metropolis with the warmth of a small town; where the world already comes together every day to live and work and reach for a dream -- a dream that no matter who we are, where we come from; no matter what we look like or what hand life has dealt us; with hard work, and discipline, and dedication, we can make it if we try.
"That's not just the American Dream. That is the Olympic spirit. It's the essence of the Olympic spirit. That's why we see so much of ourselves in these Games. That's why we want them in Chicago. That's why we want them in America."
Not a bad pitch, I'd say. Not a single personal pronoun for three paragraphs. But what about the cliche's? Obama, Will says, makes use of "the foggy sentimentalism of standard Olympics blather." Best to stay clear of any mention of the Olympic spirit or the character-building properties of sport.
So Will's two charges are that the president is vain and uses cliches. The horror! When can we get back to the humble presidents who have led and defined America, and who invariably spoke in strikingly original language about our values, destiny, and national character?
Will has an extended list of just those very presidents, let's see, around here somewhere, but he doesn't happen to mention any just now. And failing to give credit where credit's due, he doesn't even mention that the president was not wearing blue jeans.
Anyway, I'm on the Olympic Committee and I'm looking at Chicago/Rio... Chicago/ Rio... Chicago/Rio...
Hmmmm. . .
Ya know, I think we're going to Rio!
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