Lost In Translation

I've just come in after spending the last few hours outside in my car. The windows were rolled down, but it was still quite hot. Fortunately, the heat was a bearable trade-off against some fresh air. I only had two goals while I was in my car: write a letter to a friend and read a chapter from the book I'm currently in. (They are long chapters!) I was nearly successful.

I dragged everything out to the car, got myself comfortable, wrote the first two sentences of my letter, and that's when the little boy from next door appeared again. As I said previously, he's three or four, maybe five years old, and he doesn't speak English. In fact, he understands about as much English as I understand Spanish. I heard him come outside, and, as I was the only person visible, I cold sense him coming closer to my car while trying to avoid making eye contact with him. However, after a minute or so, I heard his "Hey. Hey. Hey." It's almost cute in a child his age, and would definitely be annoying in anyone older. He keeps repeating the word "Hey", slightly louder each time, until you look his way. I usually give in about the fourth or fifth "Hey."

Tonight he had a dollar coin on him. It was one of the big ones with President Eisenhower on it. As near as I could tell, he was waiting for the carne man. (It sounded to me like he was saying 'carne' over and over.) I only found out about the carne man recently. For a few years now I've heard people driving through the neighborhood tooting a bicycle horn. Last year, the car was given up and now a man or a woman pushes a shopping cart through the neighborhood. The bicycle horn is the same. I've never stopped the person so I don't know exactly what's available, but the shopping cart seems to be filled with home-made Mexican food. I have been tempted many times to see if the food is any good.

So the little boy is playing with his fat shiny coin, and after a few minutes I repeat 'carne' at him and he seems to be happy. As he is also occasionally looking down the street, I further believe that my guess is correct. Assuming that this information has been successfully imparted to me, I turn back to my letter with the belief that I'll be able to write again without disruption.

Not so, of course. I am still the only person outside, and nothing strikes boredom into a little boy as much as waiting. (Ironically, I also begin waiting for the carne man to show himself!) Here begins a 10- to 15-minute conversation that neither one of us really understands. At one point he is fascinated by the frog decal on my car door. I clearly he the word 'monster' mixed into his sentences so I decide to correct him by saying it's a 'frog.' He doesn't seem to get the word 'frog,' however, so I repeat it a few times and then add a 'ribbit ribbit' sound. This confuses him further as he now thinks I've said 'rabbit.' I repeat 'frog' a few more times and that part of the conversation dies off awkwardly.

Turning back to my letter I am then interrupted by his imitation of of a loud, fast car. I shake my head and say my car doesn't go fast. I add that it is old and slow. He looks at me and seems to say 'Not fast?' and I repeat the old and slow part. Then he indicates that the car parked on the curb goes very fast. He gets excited and launches into a very onamatopoetic speech, much like C3PO telling of the destruction of the Death Star to the Ewoks. I gather that the car goes very fast, and repeat 'fast' back to him. He agrees and is happy for a moment.

I use this break in the conversation to lift up my notebook and tell him I have to 'study.' I show him the pen and paper, and then turn back to my writing. However, this wave of my breaks effortlessly against his enthusiasm. He now starts pointing at the weeds growing next to my sidewalk saying 'esta'— at least, that's what I think he's saying. I believe 'esta' means 'this' so I briefly wonder if he's quizzing me on words for things. I reply variously 'weed', 'grass', 'sidewalk', and 'ants' as he points around, but he never seems to be satisfied with my answers. After a few minutes of this, I figure every boy like ants so I point out the ants again. There is an active trail of them along the edge of the sidewalk. He points at them again as I say 'ants,' but he is not otherwise entertained by them. He makes a motion to sit down, and I tell him to be careful to not sit in the ants.

All the while, he is flipping and rolling that big coin of his. He drops it frequently, and I tell him to be careful with it. I suggest he put it in his pocket so it will be safe, but he has none of that. I keep wondering why the freaking carne man hasn't shown up yet. Eventually the boy points at my porch and makes a sitting motion. I tell him it's OK to sit there. He plops his but down and immediately puts his head in his hands, very doleful. I turn back to my letter. This is when two or three teenagers come out of the house next door and call him. He runs back, and the carne man seems to be forgotten.

So, I had time to write my letter, but evening was coming on by the time I started reading. Even with my clip-on light, the evening light is difficult to read by so I gave up after 15 minutes and came inside.

Back soon!

"Boys are beyond the range of anybody's sure understanding, at least when they are between the ages of 18 months and 90 years."— James Thurber

Gran Sportage

The noises and the door slammings continue in my new neighbors' apartment. There are at least three cars parked there every night, and I still haven't heard a word of English from any of them. I know, I know— that last one makes me seem like kind of an asshole. I bring it up because it's just another wall between us. Oddly enough, however, I did talk to one of them yesterday afternoon. I was reading in my car— yes, feel free to laugh, but it's something I do often these days— and a little boy about three or four started playing in the yard. He picked up the garden hose, which was snaked across the lawn, and then he saw me in my car. He wanted to play with the water. I have a hard enough time understanding children of that age to begin with, but he was speaking in Spanish, which I don't understand at all. The water seemed obvious though. So, I told him that the handle for the water was against the front of the house. He understood me enough to try to turn the water on. However, there are actually two handles for this setup so I got out of my car and showed him the second one. He was delighted when water actually came out, and after a few seconds he ran into the house to tell someone. I climbed back in my car and continued reading. I guess that makes me Clint Eastwood for now.

This afternoon I finished a book titled Hunt at the Well of Infinity. According to my friend Pat, the publisher of the Hard Case crime novels (one of which I reviewed a few weeks ago) approached George Lucas about publishing a new line of Indiana Jones novels. Lucas turned them down, but they had authors lined up so they decided to publish their own series of novels about a treasure hunter and adventurer named Gabriel Hunt. I cannot personally vouch for the George Lucas connection, but had he been allowed to sample one or more of the books, I can see why he turned down the publisher's request. This first book was terrible. It was completely by-the-numbers and could have been plotted by a machine or a software program. The prose was uninspired as well, never once delighting with a well-phrased metaphor and certainly never informed with a shred of authenticity. That is, when the action moves to a jungle setting for several chapters, the author's prose in no way suggests that the author knows the slightest thing about the jungle. It's like people who write about police procedure when their only experience is watching police dramas on TV.

So, having said that, I have to admit that part of me enjoyed reading the book. It's simple pulp hack writing... but I like pulp hack writing. (Don't get me wrong, I more enjoy good writing, particularly if it's well written pulp.) I'm also down with the adventurer concept. More than the actual movies themselves, I love the concept of Indiana Jones. The treasure-seeking adventurer is a great pulp protagonist, and as bad as this first novel was, I'm sure I'll read more novels in the series as they're published. (If they don't improve, eventually I'll lose interest.)

Back in the 80's, before Dale and I were roommates, I read many Mack Bolan books and even subscribed to that series and several others. The publisher was Gold Eagle, an imprint of Harlequin publishing. (The same Harlequin that pumps out romances.) Every month they sent out two Mack Bolan novels, a Phoenix Force novel, and a couple others. (There was a post-apocalyptic series in there.) They weren't great books— not by a long shot— but they were each entertaining for a few hours. The Mack Bolan character is pretty much Charles Bronson in the Deathwish movies. My understanding is that the first few dozen of his books were all about Mack Bolan going after the mob. By the time I started reading them, he was also hunting down international terrorists and the like. There was a virtually guaranteed level of violence to the books, and I still remember some of the more lurid and excessive scenes. Phoenix Force was a squad-based version of Mack Bolan, and the post-apocalyptic series, whose name I don't recall, was a slightly sci-fi version of Phoenix Force.

All in all, the books were fairly irredeemable... but for about a year I read each and everyone of them.

When I began the Gabriel Hunt book, I was immediately put off by how poorly written it is. But, about half-way through, I started to enjoy the Mack Bolan-ness of the book. It was nearly as violent or sexist, but it prodded a part of my brain that occasionally needs prodding. Stay tuned for more.

See you soon!

"A real book is not one that we read, but one that reads us."— W. H. Auden

Lost Again

This will probably be a short post. Since it's been a week or two, I wanted to mention that my infatuation with Lost continues. I'm half way through the third season now, and I find that I really need to watch two or three episodes a day. Over last weekend, when I was quite busy, I wasn't able to watch many episodes, and I found the need to watch scratching at the back of my mind. I'm terribly anxious to get through all the current episodes— if for no other reason than finally being able to have full and unguarded conversations with my friends.

I will venture that third season is so far my least favored. As I explained to Pat the other day, in first season I got to know a large cast of characters, and my heart seems to only have room for them. I don't care for the Others, and every scene with them seems like a waste of time to me. That said, I do enjoy the character of Ben, as he is so wonderfully evil. I also enjoy a few other characters that have joined the cast since the early days, Desmond specifically. I also quite enjoyed Mr Eko... until he died.

Over the weekend I had a protracted conversation with a few people that I worked with a long time ago. For some fool reason I even asked about attending one of the regular lunches they all meet up at. It seems that the retirees and other former employees of the company I used to work for here in San Bernardino meet once a month. My friend Lee Ann invited me to attend a couple months ago, but I was too embarrassed to accept the invitation then. Now I feel that it might be fun to catch up with everyone. We'll see, eh? I'm sure to write about it in a few weeks.

Well, that's about it for tonight. No more apologies from me about length or missing days. I really enjoy posting in this blog, but I refuse to make myself feel hostage to it. See you again soon!

"I think TV promulgates the idea that good art is just art which makes people like and depend on the vehicle that brings them the art."— David Foster Wallace

Busy Is As Busy Does

I've been busy and/or away from home a lot this last week. I believe I already mentioned hanging out with Pat last Monday on my birthday. On Thursday I enjoyed a nice dinner out with my friend Ken. On Friday I spent the entire day with Pat and his family, starting the day by seeing The Hangover with Pat, his brother, Chris, and their Dad, and then finishing the day just hanging out at their place. Saturday, Independence Day, I again hung out with Pat's family all day. Things will be slow now for the next few weeks as Pat and his family will be on vacation on the East Coast.

I give high marks to The Hangover. I know I'm the last person to say this, but it was a really funny movie. It didn't make me think, and it didn't try to change my life. It just made me laugh for the better part of two hours.

I always enjoy Independence Day with Pat's family. They live a half mile or so from the University of Redlands stadium, where the city stages its fireworks show. We spend the day eating like pigs because Lisa always puts out a wonderful spread and several other dishes show up with guests as well. In the evening, when the show begins with several parachutists leaping from a plane, we fill the lawn full of chairs and kick back with dessert and sodas. The girls run around and entertain themselves and everyone else after the parachutists have landed and before the fireworks begin. (There is a concert and ground-level show for the people who paid to be in the stadium.) Then, when it gets sufficiently dark, we watch the fireweorks for about 30 minutes. Redlands always shoots them off pretty slowly and finishes with a pretty spectacular finale.

It being July 5th now, there is still considerable fireworks activity in my neighborhood. If this year plays out like previous years, I'll hear the bangs of fireworks fairly steadily for the next three or four days. Forgive my unpatriotic attitude, but I would dearly love to see the county helicopter and a few extra cruisers in the neighborhood, attempting to curb this activity.

If you remember early in this blog, I had a Twitter account and I used to display those updates on this page. I got bored playing with Twitter and never really found a good use for it, though, so I stopped updating. Recently I've been having fun writing fake headlines on Facebook and I've been posting those on Twitter as well. Surprisingly, I've picked up a few followers by doing so. A few weeks ago a headline involving MLB garnered me some sort of MLB tweeter, and last night a Sarah Palin headline garnered me a new follower. I'm resolved to continue posting headlines and see if the trend continues or even accelerates.

One more random topic in tonight's post: Pat bought me a WoW game card for my birthday. Hooray! 60 days of WoW!

Back soon!

"You might be a redneck if your lifetime goal is to own a fireworks stand."— Jeff Foxworthy