I'll come clean right now - I'm a bit of a snob.
I don't mean I enjoy only the finest caviar or have reserved seats at the opera. What I'm talking about is entertainment. TV, movies, books, music - I'm picky about what media I take in. I take grief from people for not adoring every summer blockbuster or following the hottest singers.
I like what I like and there's nothing anybody can do to change that. I generally prefer something that is going to make me thing, challenge me, explore unfamiliar territory.
So I thought I'd share a little of my personal preferences again, as I have in the past with music. This time, we talk TV (or I write TV and you read it, and then maybe leave a comment or gripe to me later in person). My top five favorite television shows. Of all time.
#5: Dexter
So it's a show about a serial killer? He's the protagonist, the "good guy"? Sounds interesting. Of course, he only kills other murderers (or does his best to limit it to murderers). It's a fascinating look at a character that you know going into it is not merely flawed, but legitimately crazy. He's a psychopath! But one that's been trained to deal with his own kind. And along the way he starts discovering things about himself that shouldn't be possible for a man with his...condition.
Michael C. Hall's acting is best during the execution scenes - his character is rarely more honest and open than when he is with his victims. It's terrific to see him attempt to exorcise his own demons before putting an end to someone; like they're a therapist he's come to see rather than a murder he in turn has stalked to kill.
Season 4 alone, with special guest star John Lithgow and a season finale I'll never forget, stands out to me as one of the greatest pieces of television history. While the show kind of took a dive following that, it still stays in my top five. I'm sad to see the series come to an end, yet excited to see how they wrap up one of my favorite character studies.
#4: The Sopranos
I have a soft spot for gangsters. Organized crime is a subject I'm fascinated with. The creation of a violent, brutal subculture within our greater society as a whole; capitalism at its most perverse. The Sopranos knew how to delve into this world, as so many others have before, but added an extra element.
The Sopranos was a combination of action/adventure, family drama, and ethical study. Tony Soprano was like so many other disgruntled, conservative TV dads we've seen. Yet he wasn't. Tony is a gangster. More than that, he's an absolute monster! He commits acts of brutality on a regular basis, yet he is the main protagonist. You are supposed to emphasize with him as he deals with his slacker son, rebel daughter, argumentative wife, and his very worrisome mommy issues (and even more worrisome mother). I personally always struggled with that, but I will admit Tony was usually more sympathetic than his fellow gangsters. Not to mention the truly bizarre forays into the realm of existentialism the show took.
There have been few shows like The Sopranos. Boardwalk Empire is a good imitation, but an imitation nonetheless. And I hear The Wire shared certain similarities, but I haven't seen it. For me, The Sopranos is in a class all by itself.
#3: The Daily Show
I may be showing some of my political bias here, but I recognize good comedy when I see it. And The Daily Show is the best comedy on TV these days.
Jon Stewart and his "correspondents" constantly skewer news, politics, and society. His satirical news show, widely regarded by people my age as the most honest name in news (which does kind of miss the point), has been an eye-opening look into the quagmire that is U.S. politics and insanity of modern media. Eye-opening, yet uproariously funny too!
I've given up on other comedians who talk about political and social issues in a negative light; always blaming the other party and complaining more than telling jokes. But Stewart's tendency to keep things light despite all the bullshit him and his team are confronted with daily, serves as a reminder to me to do the same.
#2: Mystery Science Theater 3000
I already did not one, but two blog posts about this fantastic cult comedy. Why waste time doing it again? Go read them yourself.
#1: Justified
For those of you who have heard me attempt my atrocious Kentucky accent, you know how much I love this show.
Another of Elmore Leonard's memorable characters brought to life on screen, Raylan Givens is everything you'd expect from a Wild West U.S. Marshal. Except it ain't the 1800s - it's the 21st century. Born 200 years too late, Raylan tries to maintain law and order in his native state of Kentucky, especially within the violent hills of Harlan County. All the while we explore his motives, emotions, ambitions, and (usually crazy) relationships
Not as existential as The Sopranos, not as flawed and ruthless as Dexter Morgan, and despite some very witty dialogue, not as hilarious as The Daily Show or MST3K; but Justified and it's many characters represent the finest thing on television right now.
Headlined by the aforementioned trigger happy, Stetson wearing U.S. Marshal, the show is bolstered by a great cast of characters. The exasperated chief who could use a break from Raylan's antics, the rookie Marshal looking to prove she belongs, the ex-Army sniper who you just sense has some deeper issues we haven't explored, Raylan's con-man father (who then married his deceased wife's sister) a modern day Bonnie & Clyde pairing, and a host of memorable side characters and villains. No wonder that of the show's seven Emmy nominations, five have been acting nominations (with Margo Martindale and Jeremy Davies the two very deserving winners).
Much like Season 4 of Dexter, I'd place Season 2 of Justified on my Mt. Rushmore of TV series seasons. Hands down, the best thing on television right now.
Honorable mentions: Boardwalk Empire, The Newsroom, Doctor Who, The Colbert Report, Monty Python's Flying Circus, Courage the Cowardly Dog (don't judge, that cartoon was fantastic!).
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Bucks Lake
As I mentioned more than a month ago, I went back to California for a long overdue camping/fishing trip. While the camping part never really developed (long
story), I did get in a full day’s fishing with my father and some extended
family.
We returned to the sight of our most recent triumph: Bucks Lake in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. We camped and fished there in the summers of 2010 and 2011. While we had success on each of the previous visits, this past year the only thing any of us caught were sunburns. And in my case, a shoelace (don’t ask). However, Bucks Lake remains the home of my greatest fishing accomplishment.
As of 2011, I'd only caught one fish my whole life: Lake Oroville, a popular summer getaway spot in California. I think I was 16, so it was quite some time ago, and the fish I caught might as well have been a minnow. I remember feeling a sharp tug on my line, and that was it. Just a single tug. I thought maybe I’d briefly latched on to something and reeled in just to make sure my bait was intact. Sure enough, at the end of my line was the tiniest bass I’ve ever seen. We let it go.
So I've never felt very good about my fishing skills. But I’m in good company because most of the Hoff family is bad at fishing. Despite numerous fishing trips over the years, dating back to when my father and his siblings were all little (during the Cretaceous Period, I believe), there haven’t been many tales of great success.
The exceptions to this rule are my Papa and my cousin, Adam. Papa is the reason any of my uncles enjoy fishing to begin with, and it seems Adam has inherited his talent. Adam is like a fish whisperer compared to us! I’ve seen him catch fish using nothing more than chewed gum on a hook as bait. He’s the master now.
My father and I made our first trip to Bucks Lake with two of my uncles and three cousins. Two full days of fishing resulted in four nice fish for eating and another four that were caught and released. Adam was in particularly fine form; he had the majority of our catches.
Anyway, my two uncles and one of my younger cousins joined my father and me again the next year to the same spot. We only caught three fish that year (all of them keepers, however), but it marked a personal achievement for myself. I was responsible for two of those fish!
I caught the first of the day. I felt the sharp, incessant tug on my line that signaled a catch. As unfamiliar as I was to that feeling, I still recognized it for what it was. I had a fish! He put up a decent fight, but I tired him out and reeled him toward the boat where one of my uncles grabbed him. A beautiful brown trout! I had caught my first fish worth keeping.
After my father even the score at 1-1, my second catch of the day came a few hours later. It was a no-look, over the shoulder catch. I know that makes it sound like a football or baseball catch, but let me explain. What happened was I had my fishing pole resting on my shoulder with my line going directly out behind the boat as we slowly trolled along. Suddenly, my pole was slamming into my shoulder as my second trout of the day took the bait and paid the price.
But the biggest story from that particular trip is the one that got away (isn’t it always?). My uncle David hooked something big! He fought with that thing for what felt like half an hour before finally he started getting it close to the boat.
It was a monster! The king of the lake! It wasn’t a fish, it was a shark! No, a whale! No…the Loch Ness Monster! The largest trout any of us had ever seen and it was now within sight of our boat. Just one problem: we had forgotten our nets in the truck that morning. With our other three fish that hadn’t been a problem, but we could tell this would be different.
My uncle Darrell stalked out to the end of the boat as David continue reeling in (I know, there’s a lot of “D” names on one boat…wait until I try describing a Hoff family holiday to you). Darrell planned to grab it with his bare hands, but the monster got its second wind upon spotting him and the boat. Darrell had his fingertips on it at one point before it splashed away. A few seconds later – it snapped the line! Taking David’s hook and bait with it, the Bucks Lake Monster swam back into the depths.
None of us have forgotten that day. And to this day, that fish gets bigger with each retelling.
Now I understand the thrill of hunting. Eating something you personally tracked down and fought with to subdue – its fun! It’s exhilarating! And that haunting feeling you get about the one that got away… it stays with you.
I prefer lines and hooks to guns and orange vests, but it’s the same thing really. Nothing tastes better than a meal you’ve caught yourself.
With the bitterness of defeat still fresh in my mouth, I can't wait until next year's trip! I'm coming for you, fish!
We returned to the sight of our most recent triumph: Bucks Lake in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. We camped and fished there in the summers of 2010 and 2011. While we had success on each of the previous visits, this past year the only thing any of us caught were sunburns. And in my case, a shoelace (don’t ask). However, Bucks Lake remains the home of my greatest fishing accomplishment.
As of 2011, I'd only caught one fish my whole life: Lake Oroville, a popular summer getaway spot in California. I think I was 16, so it was quite some time ago, and the fish I caught might as well have been a minnow. I remember feeling a sharp tug on my line, and that was it. Just a single tug. I thought maybe I’d briefly latched on to something and reeled in just to make sure my bait was intact. Sure enough, at the end of my line was the tiniest bass I’ve ever seen. We let it go.
So I've never felt very good about my fishing skills. But I’m in good company because most of the Hoff family is bad at fishing. Despite numerous fishing trips over the years, dating back to when my father and his siblings were all little (during the Cretaceous Period, I believe), there haven’t been many tales of great success.
The exceptions to this rule are my Papa and my cousin, Adam. Papa is the reason any of my uncles enjoy fishing to begin with, and it seems Adam has inherited his talent. Adam is like a fish whisperer compared to us! I’ve seen him catch fish using nothing more than chewed gum on a hook as bait. He’s the master now.
My father and I made our first trip to Bucks Lake with two of my uncles and three cousins. Two full days of fishing resulted in four nice fish for eating and another four that were caught and released. Adam was in particularly fine form; he had the majority of our catches.
Anyway, my two uncles and one of my younger cousins joined my father and me again the next year to the same spot. We only caught three fish that year (all of them keepers, however), but it marked a personal achievement for myself. I was responsible for two of those fish!
I caught the first of the day. I felt the sharp, incessant tug on my line that signaled a catch. As unfamiliar as I was to that feeling, I still recognized it for what it was. I had a fish! He put up a decent fight, but I tired him out and reeled him toward the boat where one of my uncles grabbed him. A beautiful brown trout! I had caught my first fish worth keeping.
After my father even the score at 1-1, my second catch of the day came a few hours later. It was a no-look, over the shoulder catch. I know that makes it sound like a football or baseball catch, but let me explain. What happened was I had my fishing pole resting on my shoulder with my line going directly out behind the boat as we slowly trolled along. Suddenly, my pole was slamming into my shoulder as my second trout of the day took the bait and paid the price.
But the biggest story from that particular trip is the one that got away (isn’t it always?). My uncle David hooked something big! He fought with that thing for what felt like half an hour before finally he started getting it close to the boat.
It was a monster! The king of the lake! It wasn’t a fish, it was a shark! No, a whale! No…the Loch Ness Monster! The largest trout any of us had ever seen and it was now within sight of our boat. Just one problem: we had forgotten our nets in the truck that morning. With our other three fish that hadn’t been a problem, but we could tell this would be different.
My uncle Darrell stalked out to the end of the boat as David continue reeling in (I know, there’s a lot of “D” names on one boat…wait until I try describing a Hoff family holiday to you). Darrell planned to grab it with his bare hands, but the monster got its second wind upon spotting him and the boat. Darrell had his fingertips on it at one point before it splashed away. A few seconds later – it snapped the line! Taking David’s hook and bait with it, the Bucks Lake Monster swam back into the depths.
None of us have forgotten that day. And to this day, that fish gets bigger with each retelling.
Now I understand the thrill of hunting. Eating something you personally tracked down and fought with to subdue – its fun! It’s exhilarating! And that haunting feeling you get about the one that got away… it stays with you.
I prefer lines and hooks to guns and orange vests, but it’s the same thing really. Nothing tastes better than a meal you’ve caught yourself.
With the bitterness of defeat still fresh in my mouth, I can't wait until next year's trip! I'm coming for you, fish!
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
The cold city
"The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco." - Mark Twain
"The weather here ... it's very reminiscent of England. Actually, it might be worse. At least we see sun in the summer." - British woman I overheard on MUNI
There is no place on Earth colder than San Francisco.
That chill you get when a brisk wind from the bay sweeps across your body - nothing compares to that. That's a chill that goes straight to the bone. It penetrates deep inside you; within your very soul.
Alaska - whatever.
Scandinavia - got nothing on The City!
Siberia - a vacation spot.
Antarctica - positively balmy by comparison.
San Francisco has a perpetual gloom over it that sometimes actually worsens during the supposed summer months. A dampness that no other area gets. That's saying something coming from a guy familiar with Seattle!
Every single day in San Francisco starts and ends exactly the same way. There's heavy fog in the morning, with strong winds bringing in new fresh fog in the evening. The details of the day in between can vary day-to-day and season-to-season, but that's the starting and ending point for every day. Fog, fog, and wind.
That's no joke. You can set your watch by the fog level in San Francisco.
And that's the thing - it's just San Francisco. Once you're outside of city limits, you're free! Cross any one of the bridges or start driving southbound and you'll find yourself out of the Twilight Zone and in California. There's bright skies, warm weather, children laughing and playing, birds singing. The bay is still right there, but the other surrounding towns are unaffected. You can look back from where you came from and just see dark gray clouds obscuring the city.
I can't explain why San Francisco is perpetually cold, damp, and windy. All I can do is explain why it feels so much worse than anything else.
Now my experiences with cold weather are certainly limited. On my dad's side, my roots are from North Dakota. I've never been there, but I don't think I'd enjoy a North Dakota winter. I've pretty much been locked onto the West Coast my whole life.
Still, I do have lots of experience with Washington; both the Seattle area and Eastern Washington. Next month will mark 11 years spent living in "Seattle" or Pullman, Washington. I've had my fair share of rain and snow living in this state. Seattle's reputation is certainly well deserved. And I'll never forget that winter of 2008/2009. Walked outside to go to class and it was -8 F. So cold I could barely breathe; it physically hurt to suck in air that cold.
However, there's a difference. You are told about Seattle's tendency toward rain, and that in the winter time Eastern Washington gets even worse. No one tells you about San Francisco's problems.
The problem is not so much a physical one as a mental one. Your brain is telling you that you are in California, but your body is feeling that wind chill and saying, "Are you bloody paying attention to what the eyes are you showing you?!?! Look at those clouds! Do you feel that chill?"
You are mentally prepared for California and instead you get foggy London town. You go to Chicago expecting the Windy City, you go to Antarctica expecting nothing but ice, you go to Nebraska...oh, who am I kidding? Nobody ever goes to Nebraska.
Which is why the summer's are even worse! You are even more mentally prepared for warmth and sunshine, and instead it's maybe (if you're really lucky) 60 F with some sun between 11:00am-4:00pm (I wasn't kidding about that watch thing). And then it's back to winter. And then the next day is 50 F with no sun. In the middle of summer!
A couple of summers ago, some friends of mine drove up to The City from Fresno. They were college friends of mine now living in Southern California, and hadn't had much experience in Northern California yet. It was sort of an impromptu visit, and they arrived at my doorstep wearing shorts and T-shirts right around the time, as I mentioned, that the wind picks up and the fog rolls back in. They had to borrow clothes to avoid freezing. Thankfully the next day was a rare reprieve from the norm and was 75 F and sunny, so I could actually take them out on the town.
That's the thing about Washington - it gets summer. Washington, even Seattle, is seasonal. Since July 1, Seattle has been more like San Diego. It might be only two seasons instead of four, but it's seasonal.
San Francisco has just one season. With one strange exception. September and October, of all months, do sometimes lead to decent weather in San Francisco. Right when the rest of the country starts changing into fall, trees die and change colors, animals prepare to hibernate for winter - San Francisco finally blossoms for all of 1 1/2 - 2 months.
So if you're ever planning a trip to the City by the Bay, go in September or October. That's your best bet. Because otherwise you'll be walking into a city locked into a state of almost perpetual winter.
And I still love it!
"The weather here ... it's very reminiscent of England. Actually, it might be worse. At least we see sun in the summer." - British woman I overheard on MUNI
There is no place on Earth colder than San Francisco.
That chill you get when a brisk wind from the bay sweeps across your body - nothing compares to that. That's a chill that goes straight to the bone. It penetrates deep inside you; within your very soul.
Alaska - whatever.
Scandinavia - got nothing on The City!
Siberia - a vacation spot.
Antarctica - positively balmy by comparison.
San Francisco has a perpetual gloom over it that sometimes actually worsens during the supposed summer months. A dampness that no other area gets. That's saying something coming from a guy familiar with Seattle!
Every single day in San Francisco starts and ends exactly the same way. There's heavy fog in the morning, with strong winds bringing in new fresh fog in the evening. The details of the day in between can vary day-to-day and season-to-season, but that's the starting and ending point for every day. Fog, fog, and wind.
That's no joke. You can set your watch by the fog level in San Francisco.
And that's the thing - it's just San Francisco. Once you're outside of city limits, you're free! Cross any one of the bridges or start driving southbound and you'll find yourself out of the Twilight Zone and in California. There's bright skies, warm weather, children laughing and playing, birds singing. The bay is still right there, but the other surrounding towns are unaffected. You can look back from where you came from and just see dark gray clouds obscuring the city.
I can't explain why San Francisco is perpetually cold, damp, and windy. All I can do is explain why it feels so much worse than anything else.
Now my experiences with cold weather are certainly limited. On my dad's side, my roots are from North Dakota. I've never been there, but I don't think I'd enjoy a North Dakota winter. I've pretty much been locked onto the West Coast my whole life.
Still, I do have lots of experience with Washington; both the Seattle area and Eastern Washington. Next month will mark 11 years spent living in "Seattle" or Pullman, Washington. I've had my fair share of rain and snow living in this state. Seattle's reputation is certainly well deserved. And I'll never forget that winter of 2008/2009. Walked outside to go to class and it was -8 F. So cold I could barely breathe; it physically hurt to suck in air that cold.
However, there's a difference. You are told about Seattle's tendency toward rain, and that in the winter time Eastern Washington gets even worse. No one tells you about San Francisco's problems.
The problem is not so much a physical one as a mental one. Your brain is telling you that you are in California, but your body is feeling that wind chill and saying, "Are you bloody paying attention to what the eyes are you showing you?!?! Look at those clouds! Do you feel that chill?"
You are mentally prepared for California and instead you get foggy London town. You go to Chicago expecting the Windy City, you go to Antarctica expecting nothing but ice, you go to Nebraska...oh, who am I kidding? Nobody ever goes to Nebraska.
Which is why the summer's are even worse! You are even more mentally prepared for warmth and sunshine, and instead it's maybe (if you're really lucky) 60 F with some sun between 11:00am-4:00pm (I wasn't kidding about that watch thing). And then it's back to winter. And then the next day is 50 F with no sun. In the middle of summer!
A couple of summers ago, some friends of mine drove up to The City from Fresno. They were college friends of mine now living in Southern California, and hadn't had much experience in Northern California yet. It was sort of an impromptu visit, and they arrived at my doorstep wearing shorts and T-shirts right around the time, as I mentioned, that the wind picks up and the fog rolls back in. They had to borrow clothes to avoid freezing. Thankfully the next day was a rare reprieve from the norm and was 75 F and sunny, so I could actually take them out on the town.
That's the thing about Washington - it gets summer. Washington, even Seattle, is seasonal. Since July 1, Seattle has been more like San Diego. It might be only two seasons instead of four, but it's seasonal.
San Francisco has just one season. With one strange exception. September and October, of all months, do sometimes lead to decent weather in San Francisco. Right when the rest of the country starts changing into fall, trees die and change colors, animals prepare to hibernate for winter - San Francisco finally blossoms for all of 1 1/2 - 2 months.
So if you're ever planning a trip to the City by the Bay, go in September or October. That's your best bet. Because otherwise you'll be walking into a city locked into a state of almost perpetual winter.
And I still love it!
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