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A spreading brush fire in Griffith Park, Los Angeles. Everything I’ve heard about the situation thus far has been coming through citizen journalists, blogging their photos and videos. A lot of information can be found on blogging.la.

It’s as if a distinct language exists for such disasters. Egregious damage transformed into numbers; 600 acres scorched, 20% under control, 2,000 homes without power, 300 people evacuated so far. Verbosity is stripped away and communication streamlined. Many struggle to convey their reactions. “I wish I could convey how nuts this is.” I recall the same language on September 11th, 2001, and August 31st, 2005.

There is fear, awe, worry, disbelief. “They should have sent a poet.”

photo by Sew Darn Jenny

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I’m In Ur Memes, Contributing More Obscurity.

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Went to the doctors today, because my chest hurts. I learned that nearly half of the reported cases of “this mysterious ache” are without identifiable cause. Luckily, the doctors tell me that the pains I’m experiencing are coming from the muscle around the junction of ribs and sternum, which is much better than the heart/lungs/other important stuff.

Went to the art store today, because I wanted to get a brush and some ink. I learned that cheap ink isn’t worth it, and that what I desire is a finer brush and fine motor control.

Also: 100th post, woo.

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A familiar thought experiment:

Instead of being one of six billion people on a big planet, let’s suppose you were alone on a comparable asteroid. We’ll give you your six-billionth share of the surface area, your six-billionth share of each of the major landmasses and biomes, your own six-billionth scale Africa, your own little Australia. In other words, you will have exactly the average resource ownership of everyone else on earth…

…Your little world is a model of the sustainability problem. In some ways it is a fantasy, but the scales and constraints are real, expressed not as huge global numbers but as per capita quantities…

…The fact that the planet is finite can’t be treated as a minor factohttp://www2.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gifr in this crucial question: how well can we sustain ourselves, meaning a modern society of six to ten billion people?

From Grist (thanks, Dad!)

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It used to be I would go on my longer bike rides unaccompanied, but for the past 5 weeks I’ve been going on increasingly longer rides with friends, all of them in better shape than I. One thing I’ve discovered about riding in a group is that it’s a lot easier to ignore my body’s nagging desires to rest. I’ve also learned that I have a really terrible perception of my physical limits.

Little more than a week ago was the annual Chico Wildflower ride. A metric century (100kilometer) ride that climbs up the switchbacks of Honey run, across the buttes, back down in to the central valley, around and up Table Mountain, and then finally back down and around into Chico. I’d ridden Honey Run before, and I’d ridden Table Mountain before, but never one after another, and never amongst over 1000 other riders. The Wildflower brings an enormous crowd, some of them fully geared-out roadies, some of them people who haven’t been on their bikes in months and just want to enjoy the scenery, and a few damn fools like me, riding a fixed gear running 44x16 with an 18lb. messenger bag on my back.

Ryan (riding a balls-nasty 52x18 single-speed with flat pedals), Nathan (with lots of gears), Brad (also riding a fixed-gear bike, 42x17) and I (see damn fool above) met at Ryan’s house around 7:30. We made breakfast, double checked our bikes, and were off before 8:30. The first significant part of the ride was the climb up Honey Run. This road is a switchback that slowly climbs about 1500 feet up from the valley floor. For me, one of the most challenging aspects of this climb is simply maintaining momentum, even if I’m only pushing 5mph. As soon as I let myself come to a complete stop, the task of starting up again becomes a grueling ordeal.

Last Sunday Ryan, Nathan, Quin and I completed an imperial century (100mile) ride. It was mostly flats with a few rolling hills, but it challenged something inside me I never knew the location of before. Highlights included hundreds (if not millions) of sparrows flying out from their mud nest on the side of a bridge, and riding alongside a herd of galloping horses (just like in American Flyers).

Next Sunday we are scheming a ride of about 90-100 miles, but this time it will include over 3500 feet of climbing. If I die, bury me with my bike.

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Drew this up for breakfast, click to enlarge.

I found that quote from Ms. Frank on the bottom of a cap of a bottle of tea. I think writing conversation could be a lot more interesting than a monologue, so Le Danse Electrique has effectively replaced Foil’d Revolutionaire (especially since whatever Foil’d Revolutionaire was is now gone the way of the great deleting, sigh…).

I’ve already started working on expanding this page out into a larger and much more coherent piece, so you can stop worrying.

Self-indulgent philosophical double-speak through the mouths of two skeletons set against a backdrop of a fantasy American-midwest trapped in time (feat. famous zombified scientists somehow). That’s what I call a tagline.

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May 1, 2003, President Bush landed on the USS Lincoln aircraft carrier and declared that

“Major combat operations have ended. In the battle of Iraq, the United States and our allies have prevailed.”

Think Progress has the numbers, and they’re as bad as you’d expect.

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