Plastic features and hollow eyes (Bay Area adventures)

WADDA DAY. After Fannie’s 8-hour surgery yesterday, she seemed fine, but then, this morning, her BP plummeted to 70 over 30 or something. To make a long story short, her doctors decided to move her to ICU where they pumped her full of drugs and new blood. Her BP had crawled up to more normal levels by the time (Fannie's friend) Elroy and I left the hospital two hours ago.

Whew!

Naturally, my folks called Fannie (from OC) this morning, only to hear their groggy daughter baldly state her BP numbers plus the fact that she was being moved to ICU. That’s when she faded out. My parents freaked. They left a panicked voicemail on my phone.

With a phonecall, I managed to de-freak them. I'm trying to encourage them not to talk to Fannie directly. Not at least until she emerges from her post-surgery groggitude.


GRUFF BUT GOOD. Elroy and I visited Fannie at about noon. That's when I observed Fannie's very gruff eastern European (Russian?) nurse, in whose way I managed to stand. “Vat is deh matter vit you, eh? Seet down over dehr! Be now out of trau-ble!”

OK, so I exaggerate. A leetle.

Just then, Fannie’s doctor showed up and happened to mention that nurse Natasha (or whatever her name was) was “the best nurse in the hospital.” She was standing right there, inspecting the previous nurse's work with the IVs and whatnot.

“Oh, please. Now you shaut aup,” muttered Natasha.

Later, my sister confirmed that Natasha was indeed a great nurse. “I like you,” said Natasha to Fannie, after Elroy and my first visit today. “Remember, dough,” she added, “Deh [namely, Elroy and I] are s’posed to entertain you, not you dem!”

OK, so probably she IS a great nurse.

At one point, I saw Natasha glaring at the Tower of IVs next to Fannie's bed. Something was wrong. Soon, Natasha grabbed one of the IV tubes and pointed to a section of it. She announced, "Dees tube ees keenked. You getting nutting! I feex!" And she did.


It was another dreary day, mostly, here in Fogland, though there were patches of sunlight, at least over in South San Fran, where Elroy and I visited the local Costco to buy Fannie a portable DVD player with video iPod thingamabob. It’s nice, but it looks like she won’t be using it any time soon. She can barely move.

I TOOK SOME TIME this evening to catch up on the news in OC, but that only managed to piss me off.

GRATUITOUS COUGAR KILLAGE. Evidently, last Friday, some assholes from the Department of Fish and Game shotgunned a cougar to death out near the fucking Coto De Caza Gold & Racquet Club. Evidently, two cougars were spotted there earlier, so the Fish & Game assholes went out there to check it out. According to the OC Register, “When the two big cats approached [the] wardens, one cat was shot and killed.”

That’s just fucking great.

A few hours earlier, says the Reg, a 14-year-old kid spotted a cougar at the golf course. The beast was quietly sitting in the grass, minding its own cougular business. The kid came within 25 feet of the cat and took dozens of pictures. He told the Reg, “I wasn't really scared or anything because (the lion) just seemed to be really calm and kind of reserved.”

Yeah, reserved.

Other people were with the kid, gawking and yammering, but that didn’t inspire feline aggression. Eventually, the creature got up and “wandered away down the golf course.”

—Yeah, only to be shotgunned to death by MORONS a few hours later.

Here’s one of the pics.


SEAL STABBAGE. As if that weren’t bad enough, yesterday, the Reg reported that a court hearing had been set for a local ASSHOLE who (“allegedly”) stabbed a sea lion to death with a steak knife:

Police arrested Hai Nguyen [aka TOTAL FUCKING ASSHOLE FROM HELL], 24, on charges of attacking a 150-pound, female sea lion near the 'M' Street Pier in Newport Beach, stabbing the animal repeatedly with a steak knife after it had taken bait fish from his fishing pole, Newport Beach police Sgt. Evan Sailor said…The wounds proved fatal, with veterinarians at the Pacific Marine Mammal Center electing to euthanize the animal after it was found the several chest wounds could not be treated, Richard Evans, the center's medical director, said.

Knife Boy is facing charges of cruelty to an animal. But he could face federal charges as well. Hope so.


UNBELIEVABLY STUPID WOMAN SCARED. One animal story managed to cheer me up:

Self-described psychic scared by 'unbelievably large man'

A woman who described herself as a psychic told police on Sunday that a large "crazy" man was on her balcony Saturday night…The woman described the man as "unbelievably large God-like man" with "plastic features and hollow eyes." She told police the man used her phone and then told her "thanks."…The woman reported that her cat is now terrified because of the experience.

I wouldn’t take the woman’s word for that last bit of info. I’d talk to the cat directly.

(All photos above taken today by Chunk from Elroy's car. —'Ceptin' for the cougar shot, which was taken by that kid.)

City lights

WE GOT UP at 6:00 a.m., left for the hospital at 7:15. Went up Highway 1 to Skyline and then along the coast on the "Great Highway" all the way up to the Cliff House. It was mighty foggy and cold.

Fannie didn't say a thing. She was worried.

Soon, we were on Geary, which took us past Mel's Diner (yes, that one) and well into the city. We drove past St. Mark's and St. Mary's. At last, at about 8:00, we reached the hospital and then headed for the Ambulatory Surgical area on the 4th floor.

At 9:00, they finally called for Fannie, and off she went to prep for surgery. An hour later, they wheeled her toward the operating room. We didn't hear anything the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. We waited. All we had were two newspapers and Fannie's video iPod, which seemed to be filled with Dog the Bounty Hunter episodes and Hawaiian music. I opted for Dog.

At about 2:00, a fire alarm sounded. That entailed the usual obnoxious ring sound plus the flashing of very bright lights throughout the hospital. Over the intercom, we heard, "This is a red alert." Evidently, something on the roof was on fire. "That's just fucking great," I said.

Hospital employees looked concerned but did exactly nothing. We asked, "Is this serious, or what?" They shrugged. After about ten minutes, the alarm just stopped. Soon, it was as though nothing had happened.

We continued our vigil. I watched Dog. Some little kid came around and stared at me. I waved at him.

At 6:30, the oncologist came out and announced that the surgery was a success. They had removed various organs, but they had found no cancer in them.

While they were in there, they took out Fannie's appendix, too.

We said: "her appendix?"

"She requested that."

We waited around until 9:00 so that we could be there for Fannie when she came to. She was pretty groggy, boy. But she was glad to hear the good news.

She told us to go home and take care of Tiger-Ann, which we did. On the trip back, the fog had cleared, and we could actually see the ocean and the city lights.

"Wow," I said.

P.S. (11:00 a.m., Tuesday):

I let Tiger-Ann out on the deck, and she went out there and ate some grass. Then she stared at me. Something was wrong. I'm guessin' she misses her Mama Fannie who likely does stuff, like play with her ear tips or rub her chin. Who knows. I took a pic. This is how she stares at me.

I just went out there again, and she was soakin' up the sun (when it appears, intermittently) and mist (which never stops). Cats know how to roll with the punches.

Be a cat.

The peevish Tiger-Ann, layin' across my big brass bed

FANNIE keeps saying that I'm having "an affair" with Tiger-Ann. That's cuz I had to leave Sunny Girl (aka the Pocket Puma) at home for this here road trip, and Fannie's cat, Tiger-Ann, insists on sleeping on my bed all day here in my temp digs in Pacifica, CA.

Up here in soggy Pacifica, I don't really have a big, brass bed. It's more like a semi-rectangular beach ball, with a colorful sheet over it. I saw the box it came in in the corner. I had no idea they made beds that you just blow up with your mouth. It must've taken Fannie all afternoon.

I've gotta be careful to sleep exactly in the middle of this thing so I don't roll off or pop it—and then fall into the cat box. That would be bad, cuz that Tiger-Ann doesn't like to share space.

Down south, Mamma Sierra is watchin' over Sunny. I talked to Mamma S earlier today, and she reports that Sunny is flourishing down there in the land of goddam sunshine. It's like I never left. Better even, cuz Sunny and Mamma S have staring contests.

Mostly, of course, Sunny, like the Tiger, is layin' across my big brass bed.

Chunk's Hawaiian adventure, in Berkeley

.PACIFICA, CA. My sister Fannie's surgery is tomorrow, but, until then, she's determined to have fun. She's a member of the Royal Hawaiian Ukulele Band, in Berkeley, and so, last night, we headed to their clubhouse, the Temple Bar, a Hawaiian bar 'n' grill on University, a hop, skip, and a jump from Cal.

.I've never been to the Temple Bar, nor have I met any of Fannie's ukulele (pronounced oo-koo-LEH-leh, Brudda) pals, so I didn't know quite what to expect. Fannie clearly expected big fun.

.From her home in dreary Pathetica (as she calls this soggy town), we headed north on Highway 1, then through the city and across the bay. Pretty soon, we were in Berkeley, who's name should be pronounced "BAR-klee," but isn't.

.Berkeley, of course, is the home of "Cal." It takes some nerve to call your university "Cal." I mean, there are other universities in California, not just that one.

.My friend Kris (aka My Own Private Idaho), like all UCB graduates I've known, calls the campus Cal, and one gets the feeling that complainers are destined to pay dearly for their clueless temerity. So "Cal" it is!

.The Temple Bar doesn't take up much space along University, and, despite being next to a Jiffy Lube, it manages to look pretty attractive. I love the old buildings of the neighborhood. Even that fucking Jiffy Lube somehow manages to look old and funkular and generally Berkeleyesque. Don't know how.

.As Fannie and I entered the bar, we were immediately greeted by several patrons and virtually all Temple employees. Every one of 'em knew that I had come up north to take care of my little sister. They seemed genuinely glad about that and genuinely grateful to me.

.Gosh.

.The actual bar (see picture), I'm told, was transported via ship around the Horn, many years ago.

.Hawaiians aren't vegetarians, that's for sure, but, if you're willing to eat seafood, you can do all right at the Temple Bar. I recommend the shrimp rolls.

.The place is owned by two Hawaiians, "Uncle" Kem and "Auntie" Roz. They were away in Hawaii, but their son Kemmy and his wife Carmen were holding the pupu. Terrific people.

.Evidently, in Hawaiian culture, the titles "uncle" and "aunt" are bound up with honor and respect. Only older and substantial people are called uncle or auntie, near as I can tell. I'm told that Uncle Kem is pure Hawaiian, and he's of royal blood to boot. He gets shitloads of respect, in part because he's a Ukulele Master, which seems to be something like one of those Kung Fu masters, only kindlier and with fewer burns.

.Everybody's "Grasshoppa" to Uncle Kem.

.Despite my advanced years, I do believe that I was immediately placed in the lowly "Brudda" category, fifteen notches below "Uncle." Still, everybody in that place was phenomenally friendly. Each visitor got a very deliberate and apparently sincere "Aloha." The bartender spent most of the night happily conversing with patrons. The conversations were very wholesome, but not in a sickening way--at least I didn't get sick. It was the same at my table.

.Fannie and I sat with one of her bandmates, John, a non-Hawaiian who is, or was, a Math prof at Cal, I think. But he doesn't talk about math. Nope. Reportedly an accomplished guitarist—probably a jazz player—John seems focused on ukulele music and on the Temple Bar scene in particular.

.How is that possible?

.The same seemed true for his anglo friend Kat, who visibly swooned to some of the music she heard or played that night. Swoonage is good. And it's all done without drugs or alcohol!

.Ukulele music is more substantial, I think, than it is usually given credit for being—by me, anyway—but still, as a life-long music guy who's been around the block, musicwise, I am surprised that so many serious musicians are drawn to this particular music, which is pretty simple.

.No doubt aficianados will cry foul. In any case, it appears that the uke scene, unlike, say, the blues or jazz or goth or classical scenes, is infused with Hawaiian values of respect, good cheer, and friendliness. There's something seriously brotherly (er, bruddaly) going on in it. And that's mighty attractive.

.Hey, between songs, Kemmy (aka Kem, Jr.), who plays bass, started up a conversation with me and then gave me a free beer, a special Hawaiian brew that was hidden away in the back room. What a guy!

.Later, his wife gave me a big hug. I don't know who payed for everything. I tried to pay, but John nixed that.

.This morning, my sister still had a massive buzz from her night of singing and playing with her bandmates and fellow "Hawaiians."

.And I'm done with trashing the ukulele. Hell, I think I'll buy one.

.Aloha!

.Next time: the Bay Area: lunatic drivers and killer fog

Chunk's road trip, part 2

1. LET'S FACE IT, nothing's cooler than a town in the middle of f*ckin' nowhere. So, when I came upon tiny and dilapidated Johannesburg (CA), an old mining town along the 395, I decided to have a look around.

The town was the terminus of a mining railroad starting in the 1890s, but the tracks were torn out in the 30s. It was a "civilized" town for several decades. Today, fewer than 200 people live in "Jo-burg."

2. On the west (?) end of town, I came across an old cemetery. Bingo! I parked and commenced reading the grave markers.

3. This little girl lived for about two weeks in 1859.

4. An old iron marker.

5. 12-year-old Ada died in 1898.

6. 34-year-old Charlie Brown also died in 1898.

7. Born in Kentucky, in 1854.

8. Evidently, Frank was the "Godfather of American Rockhounds."

9. Bill had a sense of humor, I guess.

10. This guy was born when I was, but died at age 35. Evidently, he loved his bike. Note the beer can.

11. It was hot. I had to go. I looked at the sky. It was cool and beautiful.

Chunk's road trip

1. Took a road trip, starting yesterday afternoon. Drove up 395, through the Owens Valley, scene of many family adventures during the 60s and 70s.

This first shot is of the north end of Owens Lake, which, I hear, is receiving water. The Owens Valley was the target of an infamous LA County water grab seventy or so years ago. (Remember Chinatown?)

Does anyone know if they filmed "Bad Day at Black Rock" here? Sure looks like it.

2. This one's from Lone Pine, I think. Mt. Whitney and the "sawtooth ridge," I believe, to the right.

I was up there with the family in 1971 or so. In a thunder storm. Hence the frizzy hair and electrifying manner.


3. Mono Lake, or what's left of it. The water level seems to be lower than ever. Still magnificent, though. Saw Huell Howser there once. He said "golly."


4. The sky at about 7 or 8 p.m. Not far from Mammoth Lakes.

5. This morning, visited the Reb in Squaw Valley. She and Red Emma were busy keeping the poetry thing on track and preparing for the writers. The poets looked dead serious. We had to whisper, and we were nowhere near 'em.

Saw a three-legged dog and a cute little blond girl. Evidently, the girl is the conference's official "cute little kid." She does a great job. She acted all shy.

Briefly met a Cal professor who, Reb informs me, was the country's Poet Laureate back in the 90s. He's been participating in the Squaw Valley conference for decades. Very generous fellow, I'm told. Seemed like a nice guy.

We ate at some fancy-pants restaurant not far from the conference center, which sits at the foot of what locals call "The Mountain." The mountain is an impressive Rock structure that juts upward with great violence and authority. It's like a bit o' Yosemite.

Our restaurant didn't cater to vegetarians, so we opted for the pizza, which had pine nuts and roasted mozzarella that somehow tasted like pepperoni. Seemed perfect for the setting.

There seem to be lots of conferences up there. One of 'em was for wrestling, I think. Another one was for libertines, I'm guessin'. Saw some naked people looking for water in the creek bed. They had to look close. Me too.

Took the tram to the top of the mountain. You can see Lake Tahoe from there. Flags from around the world flew at the very top (see pic), which is over 8,000 ft. Studied a family there who spoke a language that I could not identify. They were beautiful people.

They held the winter Olympics up there nearly fifty years ago. It was scandalous, I'm told, but nobody talks about it. Internationalism has been a theme in the valley ever since.

6/7. Left for the Bay Area at about 3. Ran into some serious traffic around Sacramento. Crossed over the river, which is big. Very cool.

At about 8 p.m., drove into the city, encountering fog. Went from hot to cold in about five minutes. Had to pay $4 to use the toll road (the 80) across the bay. Very impressive. The city looked great in that fog, all squished together and damp and full of life. Makes me wanna be gay.



Fanny's cat Tiger-Ann says "Hey."

Dispatch #7

YESTERDAY, in Tahoe City, the Brooklyn Barbaric Yawps defeated the Amherst Belles -- 13-12 -- in the annual softball game.

An anniversary of ruthlessness

A WEEK AGO, a friend reminded me of an anniversary. On July 16, exactly ten years had passed since the infamous "reorganization" of the district—an action that reduced the number of Saddleback College deans and eliminated Irvine Valley's "school chairs" system.

Arguably, the era of serious administrative instability started with that event. As you know, administrative instability has plagued the district ever since. (See Accreditation visit.)

In order to minimize scrutiny, the unprincipled 1997 "board majority," including John Williams, performed the "reorg"—sometimes called the "Big Sloppy"—in the middle of summer (July 16, 1997) and in closed session.

According to the courts, the action was illegal, for it violated the state's "open meetings" law. The reorg was not agendized (as such), thus failing to inform the public of the board's planned deliberations. Further, a reorganization is not a permitted closed session topic. It should be done in open session.

No matter. Once the illegality of the action was determined, the board simply repeated it in open session, this time properly agendized.

Observe that the "scrutiny minimization" ploy was used again in the last week! Discussion of Mathur's new contract occurred during a closed "special meeting" last Thursday. All that was left to do at Monday's meeting (on the 23rd) was to vote on it.

WHEN I BOUGHT my new car on Saturday, I traded in my old Honda, and that entailed removing all the crap that, over the last eight years, I had piled in its trunk. This morning, I sifted through that awful pile, now sitting outside my front door.

I came across this November 4, 1999 edition of the now-defunct Irvine Valley College Voice.

Talk about your ruthlessness! This particular issue told the story of how then-President Raghu Mathur sought to stifle dissent among faculty by targeting the most vulnerable among them, namely, an untenured faculty member, Dr. K.

Mathur's ugly realpolitik was so egregious that it inspired student protests (see above photo).

K had an unblemished record and and was by all accounts an excellent instructor. He was very popular with students. But he had occasionally expressed criticism of Mathur, as had dozens of other instructors.


Mathur decided to make an example of K. At the time, Mathur was laying the groundwork for a negative recommendation re K's tenure. K was accused of participating in the unauthorized dedication of a greenhouse (built and paid for by the bio faculty). I kid you not. In fact, K did not participate in that activity, exactly because he was untenured.

K had also allegedly provided spray paint to a student who sought to write on the side of an old car that was being used in the Honor Society's "Smash a Car" activity (part of IVC's Oktoberfest celebration). The plan was to spray over the name "Mathur," which a student had painted on the car but which then-VP of Student Services Armando Ruiz objected to. (Ruiz, one of Mathur's hand-picked administrative recruits, later retired and then gained infamy bilking taxpayers by exploiting a loophole in the pension laws. See Double-dipping.)

Well, in the end, thanks to a tremendous show of support for K, the trustees were persuaded to grant K's tenure, despite Mathur's recommendation. (See Hello Mr. Chips.)

Targeting people and then using ruthless means to eliminate them is still a favored Mathurian tactic. I'll have more to say about that in the coming months.

A turd wrapped in a board inside a building

Tonight’s meeting of the SOCCCD board of trustees was brief and perfunctory. It was seriously odd.

I sat there, trying to make sense of it. The dang thing was, like, a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.

—Well, no, it was more like a turd wrapped in a board inside a building.

At about 6:45 (the meeting was set to start at 6:30), Chancellor Mathur wandered out, looking like a dog with his tail between his legs. Don’t know why.

Soon, Nancy Padberg appeared, and then everybody else showed up, except for Marcia Milchiker, who was absent owing to the recent death of her mother-in-law, Celia.

Nothing was reported from the closed session. Williams did the prayer and Fuentes did the Pledge. None of the trustees gave a report.

Like I said, grim and odd. Perfunctitudinal.

Chancellor Mathur reported that summer enrollments are up, and early indications for the Fall are good, too. Nobody seemed to care. Move on.

For some reason, item 4.8—the Study Abroad Program to Salamanca, Spain—was pulled from the agenda. Nancy Padberg pulled three items from the consent calendar, but that didn’t add up to much. She's a bit of a nitpicker.

The new Director of Facilities, Planning, and Purchasing (Brandye D'Lena) was introduced. She seemed pleased.

There was a tag-team PowerPoint presentation about Energy Conservation Measures and Sustainability. The first guy told us all about swimming pool covers, nighttime water chilling, sunlight reflecting roofs, and “cogeneration.” He used the word “utilize” maybe twenty times.

Somebody else got up to talk about hazardous waste, fluorescent tubes, and solar energy. Then the gkkworks boys got up there and blathered about the wonders of sustainability. It’s “the right thing to do,” they said.

One of ‘em, a tall, blond guy, had this low, gentle voice, and I do believe he put everybody to sleep. I almost expected somebody to say something about it—"Could you stop being so goddam dull?"—but they never did. People are sort of polite, even when they’re peevish.

Eventually, Park Ranger Kopecky got up and injected some energy into the proceedings. He said something about how, sustainabilitywise, or energywise, or some other-goddam-wise, ATEP is “state of the art,” unlike these “antiquated sister colleges.” That got a laugh.

It was weird to laugh among so much peevitude. After the laugh, everybody’s face returned to its rictus of resentment, or whatever it was.

At the end of the presentation, Fuentes stoically led everybody—the audience was tiny—in meager applause. So perfunctory was this applause that it sounded like "fuck you fuck you fuck you...."

The Police Officers Association “master agreement” was approved. Two cops in blue stood in the back and stared.

THE TURD: MATHUR'S NEW CONTRACT

Soon, the trustees got to the Chancellor’s new contract. It’s a sweet deal, boy, and it goes to 2011. Only Padberg spoke to it, though she only commented on “ambiguities” in the language and some typos.

In the end, with Milchiker absent, the contract was approved 4 to 2, with Jay and Padberg casting the dissenting votes. Mr. Wagner voted right along with Williams, Fuentes, and Dave “the quisling” Lang. Wagner looked pretty sheepish. He tried not to, but it was no use. Even the Lord was pissed at 'im.

It all went down very quickly, easily. Bada bing, bada boom. I just don’t know what to tell you.

The police chiefs got up and yammered about “emergency preparedness” for a while, but my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t hear anything they said. I guess we're prepared, or something.

Mr. Fuentes finally received his nasty little report that lists employees with “earnings over $90,000,” but we heard no details and he had nothing to say about it. Maybe the facts weren't to his liking.

The reports from the presidents and governance groups were unremarkable. The Faculty Association’s Ken W reported that contract negotiations are “proceeding in a reasonable manner.” He hoped that the two sides would reach agreement within a couple of months.

That was about it. Everybody grimly stalked out of the building to sleep or get drunk or watch “The Closer.”

Me, I got in my Chrysler 300, cranked up the Pixies' "Where is My Mind?", and cruised into the cool, black night.

See also Tracy's Board Meeting Highlights

CONTRACT EXCERPTS:

1. Chancellor. Dr. Mathur is hereby employed for a period of time commencing on July 1, 2007, and ending on June 30, 2011, as the District’s Chancellor. Dr. Mathur shall also serve at no extra compensation in the role of the District’s chief executive officer and secretary to the Board of Trustees. The position of Chancellor is hereby designated as an educational administrative position as defined in Education Code Section 87002(b).

2. General Terms and Conditions of Employment. This Agreement supersedes and replaces all prior agreements and understandings of the parties in connection herewith, including, but without limitation, the agreement between the parties covering the period July 1, 2005 through June 30, 2008, and any amendments to that agreement. This Agreement is subject to all applicable laws of the State of California, the rules and regulations of the Board of Governors of the California Community Colleges, and the rules, regulations, policies, and procedures of the District, all of which shall be made a material part of the terms and conditions of this Agreement as if set forth in full. This agreement shall prevail over any conflicting District rules, regulations, policies or procedures.
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4. Salary. The base salary for the 2007-2008 college year shall be $237,261. The base salary shall be paid in 12 equal monthly installments with proration for a period of less than a full year of service. For each year of this Agreement, including the 2007-2008 college year, the base salary provided in this Agreement shall be increased by the State Budget Act’s funded percentage COLA for community college districts without further action by the Board of Trustees. Dr. Mathur will receive this increase to base salary at the same time that other academic administrator’s receive a salary increase at least equal to the COLA described above. If, during any year of this Agreement, academic administrators receive an increase that is greater than or less than the COLA described above, Dr. Mathur shall receive the same percentage increase to his base salary. Any adjustment in salary during the term of this Agreement shall not be interpreted as a new agreement or operate as an extension or renewal of this Agreement.
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