Today, just a couple of thoughts to ponder.
From endangered historians to shadows at the Golden Hour.
Daniel E Wolf
Today, just a couple of thoughts to ponder.
From endangered historians to shadows at the Golden Hour.
It was a glorious morning in Roxborough State Park today.
This was the smaller of 2 bucks blocking me on South Rim.
Luckily the bucks are long time Rox Park residents & therefore know proper trail etiquette: Always yield to downhill hikers.
What’d you THINK I was going to say? 😉
Former Dodger screwballer Fernando Valenzuela has died. He was 63. Twin remembrances are here and here.
In 1981, after starting the season 8-0 with 5 shutouts, 7 complete games, and an ERA of 0.5, he won NL rookie of the year, a Cy Young Award for best NL pitcher, and a World Series title over the NY Yankees. He also spawned a cultural craze that became known as “Fernandomania.”
Born in rural Mexico, he was beloved by fans who adored his accent, his free spirit, and a screwball which baffled hitters all around MLB, breaking as it did in the opposite direction from the usual curveball. After his playing career ended he became a Dodger broadcaster, a position he stepped away from last year due to health concerns.
When Valenzuela started his windup, he lifted his arms over his head and, as he lowered them to meet his high-kicking right leg, he looked up to the sky. His eyes seemed to roll back in his head, as if in some sort of rapture.
Vin Scully, the Dodgers’ announcer who, over 67 seasons, watched Sandy Koufax, Don Drysdale and Don Newcombe pitch, told The Los Angeles Times in 1991 that there was something different about games pitched by Valenzuela a decade earlier.
“Fernandomania bordered on a religious experience,” he said. “Fernando being Mexican, coming from nowhere, it was as though Mexicans grabbed onto him with both hands to ride to the moon.”
When the Dodgers-Yankees World Series reconvenes this year on Friday night, I say a moment of silence in his honor is in order. Vin Scully will surely be looking on, remembering the Mexican-born screwballer with a smile. As will I.
Calvin has a point, but Hobbes has a better one.
Yup. Without warning.
I say this quiz on detective hometowns is too easy. Agree? Disagree? Take the quiz here and let us know in the comments section how you did. Anything less than 5/5 should leave you hanging your head in shame. Then, if you’re up for it, try my slightly more ambitions quiz below for a bit more of a detecting challenge. Hey, these mysteries aren’t going to solve themselves!
Dana Stabenow’s Inuit heroine Kate Shugak calls which coastal US state home? (Then, check out her blog entry about settings, here.)
Ace Atkins’ deputy sheriff Quinn Colson returned to his home town in which US State after service as an Army Ranger in Afghanistan?
Les Roberts set his Saxon series in L.A., but his fictional Milan Jacovich series is set in which real midwestern US city?
CJ Box’s game warden Joe Pickett calls which sparsely populated US state home?
Ian Rankin has set all but one of his Inspector Rebus novels in which UK city?
Bonus question: The one Inspector Rebus novel that’s not set in Scotland is called “Tooth and Nail.” Where is it set?
The species in the foreground is rabbitbrush, AKA Chrysothamnus viscidiflorus. Common in our arid Colorado landscape, it’s only a fire hazard when it’s dead. On Saturday Ben and I – along with 30 or so other Roxborough Parks & Trails volunteers including the local cub scout pack – spent the morning clearing dead rabbitbrush from Schmidt Nature Park. We also excavated the stone foundation of an old (circa 1900’s) shed/barn with numerous interesting farm implement finds that were turned over to the Roxborough Historical Society for cataloguing & preservation.
Afterward, we battled the cub scouts for pizza and beer provided by @RampartsHOABob. Being smaller and nimbler, the scouts won the pizza battle. But the drinks were still icy cold, so that’s something at least.
Sometimes less is more.
Eh, Ron Darling?
Love this take on fall folliage from one of my favorite nature photographers, Lars Leber. But I love his caption even more. “Dude, where’s my car?”
More LL photos are here. Abandoned truck is in the San Juan mountains of southern Colorado, a place Lars Leber calls home.
On this the day that hurricane Milton is set to slam into the gulf coast of Florida, a pair of stories from History.com which support the conclusion that October 9th is a day of disaster. It also leads us to the inevitable rhetorical question, “What are the odds?”
First, from 1992, the curious story of an orange 1980 Chevy Malibu in Peekskill, NY. It met an unusual fate in a young woman’s driveway, here.
On October 9, 1992, 18-year-old Michelle Knapp is watching television in her parents’ living room in Peekskill, New York when she hears a thunderous crash in the driveway. Alarmed, Knapp ran outside to investigate. What she found was startling, to say the least: a sizeable hole in the rear end of her car, an orange 1980 Chevy Malibu; a matching hole in the gravel driveway underneath the car; and in the hole, the culprit: what looked like an ordinary, bowling-ball–sized rock. It was extremely heavy for its size (it weighed about 28 pounds), shaped like a football and warm to the touch….
Second, from 1963, the tragic story of a landslide in Italy that killed thousands, here.
On October 9, 1963, a landslide in Italy leads to the deaths of more than 2,000 people when it causes a sudden and massive wave of water to overwhelm the Diga del Vajont dam. It was built in the Vaiont Gorge to supply hydroelectric power to Northern Italy. Located 10 miles northeast of Belluno, it rose 875 feet above the Piave River below and was a full 75 feet wide at its base. The construction of the dam created a large reservoir, which held more than 300,000 cubic feet of water. While the dam was solidly constructed, its location was a poor choice. The Vaiont Gorge was located in a section of the Alps known for instability. In 1963, the area experienced heavy rains….
We picked Ben up from DIA last night. He was lucky to make it out of Orlando on a United Flight a little earlier than planned after his work conference ended. If you’re into silver linings, the high point in Florida is 345′ above sea level. That makes it unlikely that a landslide will produce the same result there as it did in the Italian Alps 61 years ago. On the downside, it makes the probability of a storm surge in Tampa Bay that much higher. So there’s that.
If you’re stuck in central Florida today, we wish you godspeed. If you happen to own an orange 1980 Chevy Malibu, I guess you’re on your own.