Santa Fe 18, Day 2 — Carlsbad Caverns & White Sands

Posted on by Dale

A couple of apologies: first for posting a day late — you’ll understand why by the end of this post.

Second, I must apologize for slandering the mighty Pecos River. When I asked the desk clerk at the Comfort Inn about the lack of water, he seemed to be a little miffed and told us that back up at Church St. there was an actual River Walk that people really liked.  I acknowledged my mistake as gently as I could, but the bottom line was that the water in the channel could only be seen when crossing directly over the stream (as we did when we left town that afternoon).

Our first stop was Carlsbad Caverns. Do this thing! The approach is through a canyon which is more spectacular than the photo looks:

What you’re not seeing is the 122 caves underneath, almost none of which have been fully explored.  (Not even Carlsbad has been fully explored.)

Isn’t this nice?  It’s where the rangers live.

Eventually you reach the entrance, and this is the view from the top of the ridge:

And here’s the entrance/museum/gift shop:

So far so good.  A pleasant and short drive, easy parking, and we get to take the King’s Palace tour at 9:00.

Only not.  We were greeted along the way and again in the lobby with the announcement that the elevator was out of order, and when we stepped up to the counter we were told exactly what that meant: rather than a 60-second ride 75 stories down into the earth, we could hike the “Natural Entrance” to meet our ranger.  That would take about an hour, so they’d moved the 9:00 tour to 10:00 to give us time to hoof it.

And of course, they reminded us, we’d have to walk back out the same way.  Oy.

The walk didn’t concern us as much as the time.  The plan was to do the tour 9:00–10:00, move on to White Sands, and then to Albuquerque in time to try one of the craft cocktail bars I had so carefully researched.  If we did the cave tour, it would add two hours to the schedule.

So of course we went into the cave.

This is the amphitheatre where you sit and watch a bazillion bats fly out at dusk.  The bats are not in residence at the moment; they decamp to Mexico for the winter and won’t be back until May.

And…

Switchbacks.  Lots and lots of switchbacks. More switchbacks than you have ever dreamed of encountering.  More switchbacks than Lombard Street in San Francisco times 100.

This is Texas mountain laurel in bloom.  It’s quite lovely.

Halfway down into the entrance.

The bats were not in residence, but the cave swallows were.  I was previously unaware of the cave swallows, but about 50 years ago a colony of 2,000–3,000 cave swallows took up residence in the entrance.  Here’s a video:

Obligatory selfie.

 

Looking back at the entrance once we were down:

…and then…

… more switchbacks.  Steep switchbacks.  Remember, we were trekking downwards 75 stories.

Cthulhu showed his presence early:

More switchbacks.  It was interminable.

Down and down and down. Eventually we reached the snack bar/restroom area where we were to meet Josh, our ranger for the tour. The first people we encountered, though, were maintenance people emptying the trashcans.

Ah, we said, and how did you get down here? They hemmed and hawed.  When pressed, the man smiled and said that he could neither confirm nor deny the presence of a service elevator.  When pressed, he said he would not want to risk the public on it, so apparently it’s in bad shape. The LFW said bluntly that she was willing to offer money, and he at least laughed.

Finally we gathered round Josh, a bright, good-looking young man, who was an excellent tour guide: just the right amount of information at any given point, and with a clear passion for the cave.

Here’s what we saw on the tour:

[slideshow_deploy id=’6928′]

Words cannot describe the vast spaces, the intricate constructions, the overwhelming multiplicity of forms that you see in this cave.  I recently read Breaking Open the Head (Pinchbeck) in which the author— pursuing/studying modern shamanism — convinced himself that we are surrounded by multiple dimensions inhabited by beings of alternate energy and they are somehow responsible for life as we know it, i.e., intelligent design of some kind.

However, unless the aliens had a hand in every molecule in the cavern — and Pinchbeck would probably say that’s the point — you have to confront the fact that randomness will produce an infinite number of forms, and if those forms are self-replicating, then evolution is mind-boggling but not unpossible.

That was a lot of deep thought, so have a naughty formation:

Have a cute doggie:

And one last tribute to Cthulhu:

The climb back up was, shall we say, a lot more strenuous than the trip down.  I feared for some of the people we saw going down: frail elderly, people with toddlers, and obese Americans.  I began to formulate the theory that the park people were not making the risks clear so that at least someone would collapse and die, scandalizing the nation and prompting an uptick in funding. Sneer if you like, but hey, we were right about there being a service elevator.

Then, nearly three hours late, we hit the road to White Sands Monument, three hours away. Lots of boring landscape, although the little town of Artesia seems to be a happening place.  Multiple pecan groves, people, although there were not any places to stop and sample them.  (They wouldn’t have been open on Easter afternoon anyway, I suspect.) The landscape changed into foothills, finally giving us actual trees and a river. Up up up and over a mountain and then steeply down:

This was on the way down.  See that white patch in the distance? That’s 275 square miles of white gypsum sand dunes.

That is not rain in the distance.  It’s wind blowing sand around.

Finally we popped out of the mountains into Alamagordo, then through and on out to White Sands.

The road into the Monument:

The way this works is that the solid rock of gypsum…

…is eroded by the wind.  When it rains, the sand will form crystals…

…which will erode back into fine, fine sand:

[slideshow_deploy id=’6937′]

You will have noticed that yes, I drew a labyrinth.  I wish we had had more time; there was a sunset walk led by a ranger that I would have like to gone on, if for no other reason than to see the mice and lizards and foxes and critters.

However, we had another THREE AND A HALF HOURS to get to Albuquerque, and that’s if we didn’t stop to eat.  Not that I’m complaining, but we didn’t stop to eat after Carlsbad either, so that meant for the entire day I was eating out of the snack bag.  And do I need to point out that there were no cocktails involved?

To cut a 1000-word post short, we sped through empty landscapes, not stopping for dinner, and arrived in Albuquerque after 10:00 pm.  No time to write, no time for cocktails, no time for anything but collapsing, then sleeping late.  And that’s why I didn’t blog yesterday.

The sunset was, however, lovely as always:

Santa Fe 18, Day 1, Part 2

Posted on by Dale

Flying across Texas is not as bad as driving across Texas, but it’s a close second: we flew into Dallas (nice little airport — sorry, Texas, but ours is just bigger in every way), had a layover and lunch, then flew into Austin to let some people off and other people on, and finally landed in El Paso.

Then we got into a car and drove back across Texas.

Oh sure, it started out with that thrill you get when you see the mountains…

…but then you turn left and drive straight back into Texas for three hours.  After our GPS got us to a WalMart and then back onto US 180, she fell silent.  We thought maybe she had died of boredom. Every hour or so she’d tell us to “bear left,” but since there was only an arroyo to turn onto, we think she was messing with us.

This was the interesting part.

By the way, the last time we were in Santa Fe, not realizing it was 7000+ feet above sea level, we had a touch of elevation sickness, so this time we got a prescription for a drug that’s supposed to assist with that.  We started taking it before getting on the plane in Atlanta; our doctors disagree in their dosage, so this will be a test.  The bottles came with the now-standard warning label that drowsiness may occur with the use of alcohol or marijuana, and I’d like to say that the single glass of chardonnay I had at lunch was effective.

On the plus side, I finally used Afrin® before getting on the plane, and my ears did not explode like they always do.

And if you thought the last two paragraphs were boring, you have some idea of what driving east on US 180 is like.  Once out of El Paso, it devolved into a two-lane road.  Fortunately, there were enough straightaways and passing lanes that getting stuck behind an old man in a little red truck — swear to god — was not a problem.

For a couple of hours, we were intrigued and awed by this:

That is the Guadalupe Mountains National Park, and it loomed large.

It was beautiful, and not because it was the only thing on the horizon. Note: you think you’re seeing the setting sun or something light up the top, but it’s the actual color of the rock: white limestone (?).

The highway actually went up and through the mountains.

And then we were past it and back to wondering how much longer it was to Carlsbad.

There was one moment of excitement: your tax dollars have built a Customs/Border Patrol stop in the middle of nowhere, and we hit it on a day when they were stopping everyone. “Are you U.S. citizens?” we were asked, and I restrained myself from flashing my fupping passport or answering, “Da, tovarich.” But white privilege being what it is, my cold “Yes” was hardly even necessary before she waved us on.

re: how much longer it was to Carlsbad — the GHS display told me that it was 5:10, we were 45 miles out, and we’d be there at 5:20. It was inexplicable, until we finally crossed into New Mexico and the time flipped to Mountain Daylight Time: suddenly it was 4:10, and I was left wondering why it was going to take us over an hour to go 45 miles.  (It’s also probable that the time change going north to Carlsbad is the reason the LFW’s guide book claimed it was only two hours from El Paso — do not be fooled.  It is three.)

Finally we got to our Comfort Suites hotel, right by the mighty Pecos River.

That’s it. There is currently no water in the Pecos River.

We dropped our things, dragged ourselves to dinner at the lovely Yellow Brix downtown (remember, it was after 10:00 EDT), and then collapsed.

The moon was full over the mighty Pecos.

Tomorrow will be moderately more interesting.

Santa Fe 18: Day 1

Posted on by Dale

We have arisen at an ungodly hour so that we can make an early flight to El Paso.

Yes, we’re on the road again, and you may very well wonder why, if this series is entitled Santa Fe 18, we are flying to El Paso when Santa Fe has a perfectly cromulent airport.  Allow me to introduce you to my Lovely First Wife.

My LFW is a determined traveler.  She loves to travel, and I’ve learned to step back and let her do all the planning because a) it’s always brilliant; and b) have you met my LFW? So when it was decided[1] that we would revisit Santa Fe[2,] she sprang into action and included 1) Carlsbad Caverns; 2) White Sands Monument; and 3) Albuquerque on the intinerary.

What my LFW hates is these blog posts, because a) she hates anyone knowing anything about her despite the fact that I am fairly well known out on the intertubes, at least to those with any taste; and b) she just knows someone reading this is going to break into our house while we are gone, because of my solid dozen of readers probably half of you are career criminals.  Or something.  Anyway, don’t do it: we have a house-sitter plus two fully grown adults living full time there.  Also the Assistive Felines™.

Off we go!

—  —  —  —  —

[1] Passive voice is used deliberately.

[2] We first stopped there on the Cross-Country Caper.

Another lame pro-murder meme

Posted on by Dale

This meme popped up on a friend’s timeline:

This doesn’t even make sense.

I know the pro-murder crowd thinks that the gun is just an innocent bystander in a mass shooting, just some kind of incidental ornament, and that “blaming” the gun is as ridiculous as “blaming” the car for the DUI. However, no one is blaming the gun. That framing device is sheer equivocation.

No, my position on DUI is not to find out what car is involved and to ban it.  My position on DUI is to take the drunk driver’s keys away from him.

We will now let the pro-murder crowd work that one out.

A lesson unlearned

Posted on by Dale

It seems that Hasbro has decided to come out with a “Cheaters” edition of Monopoly. Their rationale is that since people are incorrigible cheaters at the classic board game anyway, they might as well play along, encouraging “players to cheat by such methods as moving another player’s token, skipping spaces, or stealing extra money from the bank when they pass Go.”

“Those who successfully pull off the cheats are rewarded with cash and property,” Hasbro sweetly concludes.

Well.

I was never a huge fan of the game as a child.  It seemed to me that there was something inherently unfair about the game, where one person ended up with all the money and everyone else ended up broke. You may imagine how vindicated I felt when I learned that the game was originally meant to be a lesson in unrestrained capitalism, a warning about what happens when you let the rich eat you instead of the right and proper vice versa.

So, Hasbro, “Those who successfully pull off the cheats are rewarded with cash and property”?

You don’t fupping say.

You, free press, listen up.

Posted on by Dale

Yes, it’s been a while since I’ve posted.  There are two reasons for this.  First, most of my creativity posts have been happening over at Lichtenbergianism.com, and I see no reason to double-post.

Second, I have had to face the fact that if I were to rant liberally here, I would soon be reduced to a soggy lump of foaming, impotent fury. The Current Administration is simply a fire hose of corruption, venality, meanness, and double-talk, and no one can keep up. I do not intend to try, at least bloggingwise-speaking.

However, I have just about had it with the aggressive lying that seems to gush forth from anyone allied with the Current Administration whenever they are asked a question by the members of our free press.  The strategy that makes me scream and throw things the most is the ‘pivot,’ wherein the reporter asks a solid question which the liar doesn’t want to answer, and they will pivot to another topic entirely.  Allow me to demonstrate.

Suppose you were a parent, and you wanted to know if your child had taken out the trash.

—  —  —  —  —

YOU:  Bobby, have you taken out the trash?

BOBBY: The fact that you ask that question means you haven’t taken the time to ascertain the facts of the matter here.

 —  —  —  —  —

YOU:  Bobby, have you taken out the trash?

BOBBY: I think the more important question is whether Jill has done her chores at all.  Has she cleaned her room?

 —  —  —  —  —

YOU:  Bobby, have you taken out the trash?

BOBBY: If you were being honest, you’d recognize that I’d already put away my clothes and taken the dog for a walk.

 —  —  —  —  —

Unbelievable. No parent would tolerate such a response to a direct question.  And yet our press is trapped, especially in live media, unable to press their point and get a direct answer.

For our comrades in print, however, I do have a suggestion.  At the moment, you report their non-answer, catapulting their lies straight into the record.  Don’t.  Stop reporting their words.  You asked a question — report on their answer, not with their answer.

In other words, if they don’t answer the question, report that they didn’t answer the question.  Do not report what they said.  Frame your report so that the reader has an idea of what you were trying to get the bottom of, and then report that the liar failed to answer.

Here are some examples:

With two bags of trash standing by the kitchen door, Bobby was asked whether he had done his chore of taking the trash out.  He evaded answering the question directly.

One of Bobby’s chores is to take out the trash.  When asked whether he had done so, he attempted to shift attention to his sister Jill and her chores.

When asked whether he had fulfilled his chore of taking out the trash, Bobby left the question unanswered, instead enumerating other chores he said he had accomplished.

See?  At no point do you repeat Bobby’s misleading words.  You report on his answer and whether he answered the question at all.

Guys in broadcast media, I got nothing at this point other than a mute button or to cut the interview short after the liar attempts to obfuscate the issue and to tell the audience that since the liar had not answered the question, there was no point in continuing.

Honestly.

Posted on by Dale

There’s a small kerfuffle going on over in the Twitterverse over the New York Times interview with the Current Embarrassment. Maggie Haberman took exception to the rest of Twitter taking exception to the reporters’ abject stenography of the man’s usual incoherent ramblings, and her ratio[1] is about what you would expect.

Have a look:

Etc.

The tl;dr is that we expect the New York Times to dig a little deeper, to confront this fraud with questions that make it clear that he’s a fraud, and not to let him run amok through the truth.  There are those who say that it’s obvious that he’s a fraud just from the transcript, but that is not the case.  If it were, the NYT and the Washington Post wouldn’t keep running similarly uninformative stories about his die-hard voters who still think he’s saving us all from the hellscape of the Obama administration.

Here would be my point if I were to jump into the fracas: at no point in the last six years and especially in the last two has Donald J. Trump even once shown a grasp of legislative or policy matters. Not. Even. Once.  Revealing this to us in an interview once again without any kind of followup question is really really pointless.  You think you’re making it obvious that he’s an idiot, but we already know that.  His followers refuse to know that.  Why keep doing it?

But tweeters who are more likely to be noticed by the NYT than I are already making that point.  I’ll stick to #Lichtenbergianism and my Precepts.

—  —  —  —  —

[1] The ‘ratio’ is kind of new intertubes-speak for the ratio between your retweets and your comments.  When your comments — which usually indicate disagreement — start outweighing your retweets, you know you’ve stepped in it.

A SHOCKING DEVELOPMENT [insert flashing light icon here]

Posted on by Dale

Well.

Saturday night was the Lichtenbergian Society’s Annual Meeting, and before I could even call us to order that wretched scum W. Jeffery Bishop introduced a resolution to strip me of my chairmanship, a position I have held with honor for the past ten years.  His reasons?  Oh, something about accomplishing all my goals blah blah blah.

For what it’s worth, here’s the complete text:

WHEREAS

In the Year of Our Lord 2007 a group of like-minded individuals came together to form a Society to be known thereafter as the LICHTENBERGIAN SOCIETY, and

WHEREAS

These individuals set forth a CHARTER in which they solemnly pledged and swore an oath to further the renown and uphold the honor of their guiding inspiration, Master Procrastinator GEORG CHRISTOPH LICHTENBERG, by “putting off whatever we can in such a way as to be in solidarity with our fellow Lichtenbergians,” and

WHEREAS

Our ILLUSTRIOUS CHAIR, Dale Lyles, has VIOLATED HIS SACRED VOW to uphold the tenets of Lichtenbergianism, TO WIT:

CHARGE NUMBER 1: The Chair has on consecutive years achieved EVERY STATED PROPOSED EFFORT announced at the previous Annual Meeting (GUILTY)

CHARGE NUMBER 2: The Chair has PROFITED SHAMELESSLY through the exploitation of the Sacred Society’s name, including the publication (various) of blog posts, articles, books, broadcast media, &c for the sake of advancing his own personal notoriety and for his personal financial gain (GUILTY)

CHARGE NUMBER 3: The Chair has violated the Sacred Code of the Charter and of the Brotherhood of the Society by laying bare its SACRED RITUALS AND SECRET CEREMONIES (GUILTY), and

WHEREAS

Craig Humphrey has shown himself to be a MODEL LICHTENBERGIAN through his refusal to meet even a single goal on consecutive years, and through his failure to attend numerous meetings, including the required Annual Meetings, due to his imprisonment and other such excuses, and through his failure to exploit or profit from his membership in this Society in any perceivable way

NOW THEREFORE LET IT BE RESOLVED

That we as a UNIFIED BODY do hereby REMOVE OUR CHAIR, DALE LYLES, from his illustrious office, and IMPEACH HIM, and do hereby beseech him to AMEND HIS WAYS and return to the TRUE PATH of Lichtenbergianism, as established by our namesake, Georg Christoph Lichtenberg, and that we do also hereby APPOINT the Esteemed and Most Honorable Craig Humphrey to serve as Chair in his stead.

SWORN TO AND AGREED this 16th Day of December, the Year of Our Lord 2017 THE ESTEEMED MEMBERS OF THE LICHTENBERGIAN SOCIETY

 

Fine. Whatever.  Putz.

I hauled out the Charter and pointed to the very first Article, stating that “The Purpose of this SOCIETY shall be the promulgation and promotion of Lichtenbergianism,” and I alone had done that this year, but those ungrateful schmucks voted to defenestrate me anyway and install Craig Humphrey in my place, just because Craig accomplished nothing this year.

Pfft, I say.  Pfft.  And also feh.

I’m sure I wish Craig well in his future career as Chair.  I will note for the general, though, that I do not see a Report on the Annual Meeting on our official website, nor did our so-called “Chair” take the leftover coals from the fire to ship to members who were not in attendance.

Pfft.

So here are my Lichtenbergian Proposed Efforts for 2018:

Become a self-promoting whore

Following Turff’s lead in his successful goal to become a “corporate tool,” I am going acquire the skills needed to sell the book and become a speaker/workshop leader all over the place, up to and including a TED Talk.

Peter & the Starcatcher

Auditions Jan 7–8.  Performances Mar 1–11.

Labyrinth fixes

I have a short list of labor intensive projects that need to be taken care of in the labyrinth.  I will get those done after Peter is over and when the weather warms up.

William Blake’s Inn

I am pursuing the production of William Blake’s Inn for its world premiere.  In fact, I am heading to a meeting in about 50 minutes to begin those discussions.

new music?

Since I will finish the music for the Mar 17 Southern Arc Dance performance before January, I think I will cast about for another project.  It may be Southern Arc’s RED DRESS come back to life, or it might be something bigger.  SUN TRUE FIRE, again, or another project I’ve been knocking around for a while but haven’t named because of copyright/derivative works issues.

I will say that it looks like I am as likely to be as successful with this list of Proposed Efforts as I was this past year.  Dammit. Whatever happened to goals I couldn’t possibly achieve?

Fearless

Posted on by Dale

I have to say that I am continually astounded with the fearless manner in which Cecil, the Assistant Assistive Feline™, approaches life.

Abigail at his age (and even now) was much more cautious and amenable to correction. One squirt from a water pistol and she knew not to get on the couch again — and if she does, then just the sound of my priming the water pistol is enough to get her down.  Cecil? He flinches at being squirted, but then looks up with a curious look on his face… WHAT WAS THAT? OH YOU’RE GOING TO DO IT AGAIN?  HM.  WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ‘GET DOWN’? OH WAIT YOU DID IT AGAIN. THIS IS MAKING ME DAMP. OH WOW YOU DID IT AGAIN.

Last night I built our first fire of the season.  It was over a year before Abigail would get any nearer to a fire than the other side of the living room, and even so she has to reintegrate the concept every year.

Cecil?

Yep.  He’s an idiot, absolutely fearless.

Meanwhile, Abigail sits cautiously on the other side of the living room.

Changes in the herd

Posted on by Dale

A couple of weeks ago Abigail, my Assistive Feline™, went missing.  I was working in the back yard, and the basement door — which has a habit of not latching — had been blown open by the wind.  Abigail saw her opportunity and strolled out.

She has done this before, but I’m generally around and spot her.  She will go all OH NO YOU WILL NEVER CATCH ME HOOMAN I WILL WALK THREE FEET THIS WAY AND SIT DOWN WHERE YOU WILL NEVER WAIT WHY YOU ARE PICKING ME UP AND TAKING ME BACK INSIDE WHERE I’M SAFE CURSE YOU PURRR. In other words, she is not a wild beast yearning to be free.

This time, however, I was not around, and she had escaped.  I checked all around the house and the adjoining shrubberies, but she was not there.  It was worrisome.

Night came and she was still nowhere to be found.  I (and my Lovely First Wife) were frantic.  Abby has no survival skills that we know of, and it was easy to imagine some horrific fate befalling her.  The next morning I plastered the immediate area with posters, and the next evening she showed up at the front door, utterly unconcerned.

Somewhere she had gotten snagged on a bush or something, because she was missing her purple halter, which I use to hook her up to a lead in the back yard so she can lounge in the sun and pretend to hunt chipmunks.  Fine, I thought, you’re grounded anyway.

Then two nights ago she did it again, this time hopping down from the back porch, where she is allowed to go mean-mug the birds of a morning.  This time I was not too worried; clearly she was able to hunker down somewhere and find her way home.  And there she was the next morning at the back door, acting as if she were a big girl now and why was I all torqued even?

I decided to go buy her and Cecil, the Assistant Assistive Feline™, collars with nametags.  That way if they were ever lost they’d be identifiable and returnable, and even more, as Cecil reaches his adult size, we could tell which tuxedo we were yelling at as they scampered away from the scene of the crime.

All of the preceding was background info.

Cecil the Pest, temporarily nonplussed

Cecil has earned himself the nickname The Pest for his annoying behavior: pouncing on Abigail and gnawing on her; careening across the dining room table — while we are dining; the usual. Good thing he’s adorable. Abigail, in response, has become withdrawn, hiding from Cecil and often begging to be let onto the back porch to escape him.

So it was extremely interesting what happened when I put their new collars on them.

Cecil of course freaked out because there was this new sensation.  He did the normal flippy thing trying to see it or get to it. Also there was now this tinkling noise that was always there right at his ear!  Aieeeee!!!!

Abigail, being older and wiser, just nodded calmly at her new adornment.

That’s when it got interesting.  Abigail was suddenly lounging out in the hall, or strolling around rooms where people were, being sociable.  Cecil was in hiding up here in the study. When he emerged, he mostly tore around rooms, still jingling and completely unnerved.   When he encountered Abby, he meekly walked up to her and stood and allowed her to groom him.  When it was supper time, he didn’t do his usual adorable meowing as if he were starving.  He was a completely changed cat.

We figure Abby is feeling secure again with the feeling of her collar, since she’s worn a halter all of her adult life. Cecil, on the other hand, is simply weirded out, and we’re assuming that’s only temporary until he gets use to hearing a jingle bell every move he makes. Then he’ll return to his regular goofball Pest persona.

And that’s a report on the state of the herd.