Friday, July 2, 2010

1960

Four spankin' new immigrants (well, five, including the fluffy Mr. Prince) arrive in Southern California! Naturally, we had to visit Santa Monica.
I do believe that Annie and I did not speak English at the time.
Just thought I'd throw that out there.

We rented a place in Anaheim at first. It must have been close to Knott's Berry Farm, 'cuz we could hear Richard Nixon speaking there during the notorious 1960 Presidential campaign. (Of course, I had no idea who Nixon was.)
Check out the incinerator. Every home had one. Virtually all of them were demolished years later.

This place doesn't look like much, but it was a big step up for the Bauer family, which was accustomed to trailers in remote power stations in the Canadian bush. But we saved our money and, soon, we moved into a new home.

This is actually from about 1962. I suspect that it's Pismo Beach or perhaps a bit further north.
Ray was born late in 1961.

My parents bought this house toward the end of 1960, I believe. It is in the City of Orange, but very near Villa Park (Santiago Blvd.), where I attended school. As I recall, we paid under $20,000 for this "pink house." My parents still own it (they moved to the Trabuco Canyon area in 1975).
In my view, the home designs of the time were, well, ugly. I wonder if growing up in an ugly, pink home messed me up? That '61 Ford in the driveway wasn't much better.
I've never understood tolerance of those gawdawful telephone and power poles. Don't they strike you as seriously ugly? To me, those poles are like turds on a birthday cake. What kind of people would enter a shiny new neighborhood, even one with pink houses, and not marvel at the absurdity and stupidity of sticking crudely hewn, tar-encrusted poles in the ground and hanging ugly black wires on 'em?
But the zeitgeist of 1960 embraced "progress" and plasticity and new-and-improvitude. It's damned hard to defy a zeitgeist, isn't it?
Well, that explains pink, squat, meandering, crap-encrusted houses and flashy, bewinged Ford crapmobiles, but how does it explain those fucking poles and wires? I dunno.
I seem to be peevish tonight.
Sorry.
And urban sprawl! Even as a bewildered little kid from wild and woolly Canada, I was shocked and horrified by the disorganized and promiscuous spill of humanity that is urban sprawl! How could people flock to this? What is the matter with them? Will they next move onto methane-belching landfills and vacation on oil-drenched slag heaps? Anyone with half a brain knows immediately (I thought then and think now) that any person who is insensible to the soul-killing ugliness of urban fucking sprawl will eventually abandon car batteries on his lawn, toss old couches into the street, and will inevitably shit on the sidewalk.
(Sorry. The weather's awfully nice here, though, isn't it? Yep.)

Archives: 1983-4

Early in 1983, my little brother Ray decided to join the Marines. "Good grief," we all said.
Ray received basic training in San Diego. We all went down there for his graduation, or whatever it's called. Took these pics. (Click on them to enlarge them.)


The next phase of Ray's training occurred at a camp inland between San Diego and Orange County (Camp Horno of the 1st Marines; it is within Camp Pendelton; at a later date, he trained up near Bridgeport). There, he "humped hills," he later told me. He was a squad leader (or some such thing), and this involved kicking colleagues, if necessary, to motivate them up these hills.
Ray actually broke his foot kicking one guy "in the ass." As I recall, he characterized the fellow very colorfully. For some reason, Ray did not consider getting treatment (for his foot, I mean; don't know about that other guy's ass). It became necessary to re-break and mend the foot a year or two later.
One time, he and one of his Marine pals (a "dark green Marine," they said) stayed over at my folks' place. Late Saturday night, Ray, his pal, Kathie, and I were out on the patio, drinking beer and staring at the marvelous night sky. It's really quiet and dark out in those hills at night.
That's when we saw an amazing enormous UFO, flying slowly over us and then off to the east. All four of us saw it. It was impossible to miss.
Ray is now dead, but, for years, I would occasionally bring up that incident. 
"That really happened, didn't it?" I'd ask, sometimes over the phone.
"Sure it did," said Ray.
Kathie remembers it too.
Don't know what to make of it all.


This picture was likely taken near Fashion Island in Newport Beach. Kathie and I used to hang out in Newport Beach and Corona del Mar. Used to eat at the Blue Beat, among other places.


By '83, my little brother Ron was a high school senior. I had encouraged him to take up the guitar a year or two earlier. At some point, he advanced rapidly, and he soon managed to duplicate complex folk/blues pieces by John Fahey and Leo Kottke. We were impressed.
He and I would get together on occasion to record our own songs.
We were terribly serious about this, in a way. But it was always great fun.

In 1983, Kathie and I were living in Verano Place—graduate student housing at UCI.
Here's Kathie on the balcony of our third floor apartment.

The construction of those old apartments was such that the act of typing, with an IBM Selectric, produced a pounding roar--especially in the apartment immediately below us.
At one point, the Iranian couple that lived there complained to officials that Kathie and I were "trying to torture them." I've forgotten how the dispute was resolved. 
I do remember saying, "Nope. We're not trying to torture anybody. We're trying to type."


During my graduate student years, which continued through the early 80s, weekends usually meant parties and drinking. To a degree, this practice extended to my parents' place up in the mountains. Invariably, our friends ended up at some point partying and staying at my folks' place, which became almost a grad student hangout and Teutonic Absurdity Center.
My parents are terribly hospitable people. They've got this Old World charm, I guess. (My mom retains a heavy German accent.) So several of my friends became virtual members of the Bauer family.
Even one of my professor mentors befriended my parents and hung out in the Canyon.
I was horrified. But I was powerless to do anything about it.


Opa, before his stroke, sometimes joined in the fun.
Here he is hammering himself in the head. (My mother, in the background, seems unimpressed.)
I think the hammer broke.
You'd have to ask Ronnie about that. Ronnie and Opa were tight during those years.
(Ronnie's German is pretty good.)


I don't recall what the occasion was. I think my sister Annie had come down one weekend and set up a sheet on the wall for photographs.
I came across a few crazy photos today that involved that sheet.
In that next photo, they're kissing passionately.
My parents don't drink anymore. Haven't for years.
Probably a good thing.


     This slide was in terrible shape--beyond the scope of restoration, really. What you see is the best I could do. But it does give you a sense of the scene at the Bauers' Canyon "Compound" in those days.
     Booze. Hilarity. Art. Excess. Large and lovable German Shepherds. Astounding cats! (Moon Unit, GreyBall, Felix, Maurice, et al.)
     We made movies, played songs, argued about Reagan and Prop 13, and made increasingly extravagant and spicy pizzas.
     Good Lord, the pizzas! They were unbelievably excessive. It was as though there were a contest, and the winner simply dumped more spices in the sauce or piled more meat and junk on top than anybody else. I started to develop the view that we were insane, pizzawise.
     At some point, I incited and accomplished a revolution. I assembled everyone to the kitchen table. In essence, it was a call for simplicity. "If," I said, "one approaches the making of pizza with the foolish notion that more is always better, one will end up with this [I pointed at the offending pie] hideous, bowel-wrecking monstrosity!"
     Everyone in attendance was astonished and annoyed.
     But they were guilty, and they knew it.
     I then pulled out a sheet of paper. Written upon it was an exceedingly simple pizza recipe. I laid it upon the large oak table for all to see. "There."
     And it was good.
     Many grumbled, but all knew that I had spoken, and acted, wisely.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Remembering Sunny Girl, cat



Eradicating gooey residue


     Whoa! The district isn’t wasting any time! Just now, I happened to go to the district website and I noticed that any and all references to Raghu Mathur are quickly disappearing.
     For instance, if you go to the Chancellor’s page, you’ll find a bio, not of Mathur, but of (acting chancellor) Dixie Bullock! (See mug shot.)
     But the darned guy only “left” sixteen hours ago!
     I looked up Mathur’s name in the district directory, and guess what? He’s listed, but with a weird note: “leave till 6/30/11.”
     Garsh. Pretty ruthless.
     But I like it.
     If you're smart, you'll hang on to any Raghulia and Mathurian memorabilia that you have. Some day, it'll fetch a good price. I mean, think what's happened with Spiro Agnew watches!
     But he's gone. Amazing!
     What will life be like for the Gooster?

No more parades, waving to people who don't know who the **** you are!

No more free luxury wheels!

No more mentoring of student trustees!

No more (curiously unenthusiastic yet routine) "standing O's"

No more complimentary hair gel—and $25K-a pop legal representation to help you negotiate your "retirement"!

No more blowing off committee recommendations and honest processes so you can hire a guy just 'cause he's got connections with the Governor!


No more awarding trustees "recognitions of excellence" for recognizing your alleged excellence!

No more closed-door "Listen, you weren't the best candidate, but I chose you anyway, so you owe me" conversations with odd new hires!




No more accusing critics of "racism" and alleging "threats" against you whenever some kid notices that you're as naked as a jaybird!

And finally, no more secret reconnaissance flights!

Only $300 a night? Ernst is a piker compared to Williams

     SOCCCD trustee and OC Public Administrator John “Dolt” Williams isn’t the only guy who travels to delightful faraway places on the public’s dime. Yesterday, OC Reg “watchdog” reporter Teri Sforza updated us concerning former CSU official David Ernst (Globe-trotting ex-CSU official skates, audit says), who took “at least $152,441 in improper expense reimbursements for ‘unnecessary’ trips to Shanghai, London, Singapore, Amsterdam, and spending nearly $300 a night on hotels while traveling in California,” according to the state.
     Only $300 a night? Ernst is a piker compared to Brown Boy (aka Bailiff Boy, PE Boy, Orlando Boy, JackAss). Gosh, he spends more than that when he’s visiting crummy old Sacramento!
     Back in December, says Sforza, the State Auditor used “unusually strong language” to condemn Ernst’s scandalous use of expense accounts. He/She also criticized CSU “for bad oversight, squishy policies, and failing to grasp the enormity of the problem.”
     The auditor gave CSU various recommendations that the University essentially blew off. And so, on Tuesday, the Auditor released an update, reminding voters that CSU “has made no effort to recover from the former official … improper expense reimbursements totaling $150,607….”
     Sforza notes that this “news comes at a tender time, as outrage festers over skyrocketing student fees at UC and CSU.” Yeah, tender. And fester.
     She also reports that Ernst is now working for UC. His starting salary: $238K.
     I noticed that the agenda for Monday’s meeting of the SOCCCD board mentions no requests for travel to conferences.
     Do you suppose that Johnny’s decided to be more careful? More likely, his GOP handlers/advisors have told Orlando Boy to lay low for a while and cut out the conspicuous ridiculous consumption.
     That’s very unRepublican, but a guy’s got to do what a guy’s got to do.

UPDATE ON MATHUR's APPARENT AWOLERY:

     A reliable person assures me that former SOCCCD Chancellor Raghu P. Mathur is on vacation, and that's why he missed Monday's meeting of the SOCCCD board.
     OK, but that doesn't explain board Prez Don Wagner's failure to explain Mathur's absence. And, like my source says, "it could be that Mathur's vacation was strongly encouraged."
     Denizens of Irvine Valley College will be celebrating Mathur's forced exit at an "Independence" party today. They're saying it's about the nation's independence, but that's days away, wink wink, nudge nudge.
     Again, thanks Don. We really appreciate it!

POERTNER'S PARTY WAS A HIT:

     I'm also told that yesterday's party for retiring VC Gary Poertner was very well attended--so much so that the air on the third floor was stifling. They had to break open a window with one of Raghu's green polyurethane plaques. Somebody tried to set fire to Raghu's "big chair." There was some nudity and heavy drinking and ribald story-telling.
     Well, no, but I'm told that it was a big success and it even included an entertaining skit about pretzels or something.
     No nudity. Pretzels.
     Gosh, everybody loves Gary. How can he leave us?
     I'm told that Mathur's party a month or so ago was, well, "pretty dead."
     There was a solitary firecracker at the BBC event. The damned thing fizzled. Raghu made his "finger" speech. Everybody went home sober and pissed.


• Standing Up to 'Accreditation Shopping' (Inside Higher Ed)

Critics of for-profit higher education have of late drawn attention to what they see as a pattern of "accreditation shopping" in which for-profit entities purchase financially struggling nonprofit colleges, and then hold on to the regional accreditation that the nonprofit colleges had for years, even as the new owners expand or radically change the institutions' missions. ¶ One accreditor is saying "not so fast." The Higher Learning Commission of the North Central Association of Colleges and Schools has recently rejected two "change of control" requests to have accreditation continue with the purchases of nonprofit colleges (Dana College, in Nebraska, and Rochester College, in Michigan) by for-profit entities. Further, the accreditor insisted on a series of stipulations to approve the continued accreditation of Iowa's Waldorf College -- stipulations that will effectively keep the near-term focus of the college on its residential, liberal arts mission….

• Regent U. Gets a Bailout From Founder's TV Network, but Moody's Outlook Remains Negative (Chronicle of Higher Education)

Regent University is in dire financial straits, but it received help last week from the Christian Broadcasting Network, according to a report released on Wednesday by Moody's Investors Service. ¶ M.G. (Pat) Robertson, the influential evangelical broadcaster, founded both the network and Regent University, which was originally called CBN University. Both are located in Virginia Beach, Va., and Mr. Robertson is Regent's chancellor and president....

Thanks, Don!

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Montana, 1982

The State of Montana is all wide open spaces. And a big sky.
For a long time, there was no speed limit on the highways.
(Click on the pictures to enlarge them.)

In some parts of the state, towns are slowly shrinking. The kids tend to leave town and they often leave the state.
It was not so long ago that pioneers came to this place, with big hopes and dreams.
Kathie's grandfather (greatgrandfather?), from Switzerland, settled here in the late 19th Century.
The Jennis still live in the ranch home he built next to the crick, which runs all year.
Kathie and her three sisters all left the Lewistown area, but brother Gary—with some reluctance and much indecision—remained on the ranch and has slowly taken it over.
It is unlikely that the ranch will remain with the the Jenni family for very long. It'll likely get gobbled up.

Out for a walk near the Jenni ranch.
It's awfully quiet.

Roy's obituary in LA Times and Register: "we were lucky to have you while we did"

  This ran in the Sunday December 24, 2023 edition of the Los Angeles Times and the Orange County Register : July 14, 1955 - November 20, 2...