Late Summer, North Coast

Sunday, the 13th of August 2000, Ukiah

The DMP-100 MP3 player / divital voice recorder devices, like the Sony MiniDisc recorder/player, do not have a 'pause' function while recording, unfortunately, unlike this tape deck. So every time you pause, you create a new track mark. With the MiniDisc it's possible to delete the track marks and join the segments together. With the MP3, that is not possible. So I will have to change my style of recording when using it. Rather than, as I'm used to when using this tape deck, pausing the machine every time I have a slight break in my chain of thought, with the [MP3] recorder I'll just have to keep going and going and going! Of course, having a lot of dead air in the voice files will make them a little easier to transcribe.

Part of the delay today was getting MP3s burnt onto CD-ROM to bring along for the ride here. Um. One of the functions of the MP3 device that I want to exercise is being able to upload the recorded voice files from the device to the computer. Hopefully, eventually, running the voice files thru voice-recognition software, so that my dictation can be transcribed automatically. Wouldn't that be wonderful? So far I've only tried connecting the DMP-100 to the Monorail computer, and it did not want to communicate with it -- at one point I was able to look at the files that were stored on the DMP-100 from the [linked] Monorail, but I could never really communicate adequately between the two. So somewhere this weekend I'll attempt to get that link going with the laptop, see if it works any better. If it does, the next exercise will be to download MP3s from the computer to the devise.

[See my AUDIO APPLIANCE DESIGN NOTES for an expansion of these ideas.]

Another 20-25 minutes to Willits -- stop here for a bit, see if I can steal some water... 2 hours from Forestville, heading out of Willits with a full tank of water.

Sunday night, on the beach at Cleone, north of Ft. Bragg. A glorious drive across the mountains from Willits -- from the first ridges, there was a vast expanse of the mountains, and layers of mountains, in different shades of pastel blue, and the misty sky... and then of course I was driving head-on into the sun a great deal, which wasn't quite so glorious. Then I got out here to the coast, just in time to see the last trace of sunset. The moon is up now, full, illuminating the surf that's pounding 100 yards from my window -- I have a beach-front cottage here in the RV. Kinda splendid. And Jake likes it.

Monday morning, 14 August 2000, Cleone / Ft. Bragg.

Sitting here at the kitchen table in the RV, drinking coffee with the window, glass and screen, both open, looking directly out, unobstructed into the world. The world out there, there's an old fence-line right along the boundary of the state park, it's fallen-in in places -- where it's up, the paint is very weathered, and it's not up all that much along here. Constant pathways from the road, over thru the fenceline to the paved trail 20 yards away. Some rock-peas in bloom just outside my window, and some little white mustard or radish [flowers], probably a radish -- there's some mustard, there's some radish -- in bloom, iceplants in the sand off in one direction, actually off all over... It's clear right here, there is a haze over the ocean - the mountains to the north are blurred and pastel. I can see the cloudline off towrd the horizon, and when the moon set it didn't set right into the sea, it set into the clouds. The ocean is blue-grey, bluer near the breakers, vivid white breakers -- sea's not too high, maybe 3 feet, very placid day today.

And look for Thoman Mann's DOCTOR FAUSTUS.

A fine morning for a sandy walk along the dropping sea. On the rocky coast, the breakers are crashing lightly -- Jake and me are walking along, checking out the tidepools, bannacles, the mussels... starfish!

 Jake finds all sortsa interesting smells, I watch the swells.
 Just a few yards away, the seal-folk doing their business.
 They don't have much to say to me, along the edge of the sea.
 We're all just tending to our own affairs.

Coming around, er across a point [of rocks], the fleet came out a half-hour ago, it's 8:30 now, I see 1-2-3-4-5-6 fishing boats hangning off the point here. I'm crossing the point to a little bay, cars parked at the center of it, we must be coming to the [main] part of the facilities of MacKerricher Beach State Park. Here in this bay, the ocean seems choppier -- maybe it's just more submerged rocks for the water to break on... Just over the dunes, we get back to the paved trail -- a sign here, PLEASE DO NOT APPROACH SEALS - HARBOR SEAL PUPPING SEASON, APRIL AND MAY, SEALS EXTREMELY SENSITIVE TO HUMAN AND PET DISTURBANCE - DOGS ON LEASH ONLY ...Hey Jake, get back over here.

Ah, here at the head of this little bay, looks like a lake; is that Lake Cleone? I'll have to check the map. And I'm coming up to where trestles are on the trail - still heading south along the coast. I imagine these were trestles; I see a line of posts set in the sand here with cross-beams, looks like an old low railroad trestle - would that be a feroduct? Over the creek leading down from this little lake... Pudding Creek? [NO!] A number of cars here... the far side of the lake, festooned with eucalyptus, the dunetops away from the beach are covered with iceplants and the air is just glorious!

Are there any moral lessons to be gained, as I started by walking along the sea? Is a stroll on the coast, extremism? I mean, I'm here at the very edge! Is it moderation? I'm in the middle of the transition between land and sea. As such, is it compromise? I'm sometimes getting my feet damp, but not getting totally submerged, not being totally dry. Ah... Is it negotiation, as I weave my way thru rocks and kelp and mussel-beds and tide-pools? Moral lessons... what's morality in this case? Do we sacrifice the one for the greater good? Do we sacrifice the greater good for the one? Is the ocean the greater good, or the land? Is every fish expendable? Is every ocean expendable?

Here on the ridge-top, on one side, the rumbling ocean, the surf coming in here at the head of the bay; on the other side of the ridgetop, Lake Cleone, which is indeed what it is -- parking area, restrooms; in front of me, a dog who is starting to complain, and two pairs of children's footwear, river sandals and some sports shoes, high-top sports shoes, apparently left as offerings to the sand-dune gods. Ducks flying around the pond; the pond: placid, placid, very nice, Lake Cleone -- did I say that before? I don't remember... (dog squeaks)

A slight correction: Lake Cleone is at the mouth of Mill Creek, not Pudding Creek, which is a couple miles to the south...

Monday afternoon, Noyo and Beyond

Down at the mouth of the Noyo River, right at the beginning of the north jetty on: on the south sea-wall, right across the passage, is a BIG ol' honkin' sea lion -- at first I thought he was a statue but no, he's moving around a little bit, taking the sun and enjoying this fresh 'spring' air. A few boats coming in and out of the channel here, breakers 'way out there at the mouth of the [inlet]. Just a very small sea, about one foot here; on the shore, kids are playing of course... fisherfolk, burgerfolk, skin divers, wet-suiters... not bad. And that big ol' honkin' sea lion twitchin', well not exactly twitching, but shifting here'n'there, changing his solar exposure...

Noyo Harbor itself is sure looking better than it did 30 years ago -- prosperous times here, new buildings, old ones refurbished... more tourist facilities, same old trailer parks, a couple guys sittin' in front of one old trailer poundin' away on congas, sounding pretty fair... wharfs, restaurants, anchorages; Mendocino Bay Trading Company; Ft. Bragg Marine; all the commercial impedimentia of a port. And tourists taking the sun...

Licence plates: SCROOG; and BRNGIRL - burn girl? barn girl? born girl? brown girl? bran girl? [brain girl?] A Sonoma State U. sticker on there... I wonder what kind of girl she is? Bumber sticker: I LIVE WITH FEAR AND DANGER EVERY DAY, BUT SOMETIMES I TAKE HER TO PERKO'S CAFE - Ft. Bragg.

Then there's the North Harbor Road up OUT of Noyo, it's a definately a G.O.P. trek... (wind noise) 'Bout down to the far south end of south Ft. Bragg, turning around, don't really feel like going on to Caspar or Mendocino today -- maybe when I head out Thursday, maybe I'll take off early Thursday morning and drive down to about ere, then bike on down to Mendocino and back from there... but not today...

At a bookstore in Ft. Bragg, I found Thomas Mann's DOCTOR FAUSTUS, the H.T. Lowe-Porter translation published by Knopf, 1948, looks pretty ponderous, think I'll pass on it this time... A BEGINNER'S GUIDE TO CONSTRUCTING THE UNIVERSE, by Michael Schneider, looks interesting, see if I can find it someplace for less than $10, published by Harper-Perennial in 1995, Harper-Collins 1994... Bumper sticker: PEOPLE ARE MORE VIOLENTLY OPPOSED TO FUR THAN LEATHER BECAUSE IT IS EASIER TO HARRASS RICH WOMEN THAN MOTORCYCLE GANGS -- Swimmin' Wimmin' -- Phlegm Phlagm -- Another bumper sticker from Perko's: FOOD SO GREAT, YOU'LL THINK WE STOLE YOUR MOM!

Heading back to Camp Cleone early Monday afternoon, a pleasant ride around Ft. Bragg, around the memories... songs that have run thru my head today, while I'm walking along the beach of course: STARFISH ON THE TOAST... EPISTLE TO DERROLL... and walking along the dunetops, along the ridge, the trail, a moral divide? Natural and the unnatural? Are unpaved trails more natural, more moral, more erosive? (wind noise)

And then I was thinking about NOW THAT THE BUFFALO'S GONE, which brings up more moral problems: Do traditional cultures 'deserve' to survive? Which ones? Who determines what's 'deserved'? Who measures the levels of 'deserve'? Should *everything* survive? Why? Are all traditional cultures doomed, unless they can devise mechanisms for survival, when engulfed by other cultures? Is cultural survival a game? What are the rules? Is morality a game? Or at least, moralizing? Does the word 'deserve' have any meaning, except as a Game Rule? Damn, I wish I'd brought a dictionary, to look up the noun for 'deserve'. Deservtion? Heh... [Try 'due' or 'merit'.] So, 'deserve' is equivalent to 'should' and of course the question is, Who Decides? Who decides what "should be"? Who decides who deserves what? Are those who decide, to be elected, appointed, annointed, invested, infested, digested?

Why do humans dream? Why do dogs dream? Do all higher mammals dream? Why?

Late Monday night - umm, I got rousted from Camp Cleone, Highway Patrol came around, they were enforcing a county non-camping-on-county-roads ordinance, because a resident of one of the houses across the way complained about the RV parked out in front -- although I wasn't really in front of anyone's house, but it does no good to argue. So, I was directed a free roadside camping area just north of Ten-Mile River bridge, there's a wide spot in the road, a beach, but the wide spots aren't really very level, and the beach is frequented at night by rowdies with bonfires, so I just did not feel comfortable there -- came on another couple miles, found a road signed for BEACH ACCESS somewhere between Ten-Mile and Westport, a couple of other RVs and trailers already here, came down it, found a nice level spot, so here I am. Should be able to walk down to the beach from here in the morning, it looks like it might be 100-200 feet straight down from here, but there *is* a road, I don't think it's gonna be bicycleable, don't really think there's much prospect for biking right around here. Bother.

Tuesday morning, 15 August 2000

The COASTAL ACCESS sign here is something of a joke -- there's a, well, not quite a trail -- as Jake and I came down to look for a way down to the beach, we went along the road here, and it just falls off -- and I thought, "Well, I suppose we could *rappel* down to the beach!" Then I found a trail, a very steep treacherous trail, I go around a couple of bends and there's a stake and some ropes to get around, to climb up and down past the part where it's washed out -- ya really *DO* have to rappel up'n'down the cliffs here. So, I don't think we'll be going to the coast at this point... Here upon the clifftops, there's lotsa wild mustard and radish, mints uh, other stuff in bloom, lotsa berries, little white clusters of berries, I'm not sure what those are -- and blackberries that haven't ripened yet. Very verdant up here.

Walking along the coast road... Now I'm just passing the Pacific Star Winery, it's open, it's a beautiful day, I can see a marine layer 'way off the coast, and flying south maybe a mile away is a big orange Fuji Film blimp! (traffic noise) I thought I could hear the engine sounds a couple minutes ago, but all the traffic going by, it's not that easy to distinguish, but I'm sure I heard a buzzing from out there... Ah, a beautiful day...

Games Within Games Within Games

It's still Tuesday, 15 August 2000

The financial backers of the team of course are also participants in the game. In some sports leagues, all of the teams are in fact owned by the league, so we're really just looking a competition between different factions of the same player, that is the owner, the league.

(Mumbles...) In football, at a game, are the fans, the audience, the crowd part of the game, especially those fans who try to interfere in the game, either cursing at the players of teams they don't support, or throwing objects at them. In this case they're certainly trying to, and maybe in some cases succeeding in, interfering in and manipulating the play. [Thus they become active players.] Are fans at home, watching on television, rooting for their team, also participants in the play? To a certain extent, yeah! But if they're just wearing an emblem, a logo, they've purchased some sportswear, a helmet with a 49ers logo, a cap with the team logo, are they participants in the game? Well, to the extent that the product they bought is licensed by the league, and the league distributes some of the proceeds of the sale of that product to various teams in the league, then YEAH! Just by buying a product with a team logo, you are a participant in the play.

Ah, but games within games within games... Let us say that we have different teams, owned by different entities, and they are being broadcast on radio and television, and those broadcasts are financed by advertising. So we have different advertisers, each of which are trying to gain the attention of the audience, then we have another game, where the football itself is just part of the competition between advertisers. (And, um, where do I go from there?) We have different sports, or even the same sport, being broadcast on different media, or on different channels, so in that case, the networks that are broadcasting different sports are in competition -- they are playing another game, another capitalist game, trying to attract audiences and all the advertisers on each network are in competition, not just with other advertisers on the same games, but advertisers on competitive networks at the same time. Games within games.

Well, after I saw the blimp I kept going a bit further, heading towards Westport. Got to the next Vista Area... beautiful coastal/tide interface there, but I've walked far enough...

Well, back to games within games. Sports on Sunday, competing with church on Sunday, competing with movies or picnics or anything else to do on Sunday, all another game. And of course the examination of such games is itself a game. Surprise surprise. If a sports contest is being broadcast on television, being received by a television, and that TV receiver is on but no one is watching it, does that then become a zero-player game? Then of course there's the competition between various sports reporters, broadcasting the highlights of sports games; and the competition between various commercial media attempting to present the games.

Extrapolate all this from athletics to politics, to religion, to art, to Parcheesi and Pokemon, to Ping-Pong and prostitution, to planting and plowing and purchasing and hoping.

More Games Within Games

Wednesday 16th August 2000,
  Camp Kisebellah, Westport California.

Where are these sportswear items made? What is the competition, the game, betwen the various countries of production? Who finances the production of the sportswear? Who finances the operation of the country in which the sportswear is made? What is the competition, the game, between those different financiers? Or ARE they different financieers? Is it again a competition between factions of the same entity?

How often do the rules change in these meta-games, the game beyond the athletic competition? Can Capitalism as a system, as a Game, be thus defined as a network of interlocking, overlapping, multi-layered Games, competitions, contests? All of these Games, of course, are characterized by their Rules -- how fast do the rules of competition, on the Capitalist level, evolve? Is this evolution of rules a sign that Capitalism as a Game, or any economic[/political/religious/etc] system, any Game, THAT evolves, THAT changes its Rules, is it operating as a living organism or community of organisms, rather than as a static entity? Do static entities have any chance to survive when there are evolving entities around them, surrounding them, devouring them, enfulfing them? [Can static entities find viable static niches in a dynamic universe?]

Wednesday afternoon, Mendocino.

The Coast here, or San Francisco, or Santa Cruz, or Pismo Beach -- it's all the same coast, but different resonances, different auras, hues, to the emotional colors. The same blackberry thickets sit between the Coast and the roads; the same sands, the same gulls, the same winds. In the 'scenic' zones, the same tourists. The same me? I don't know... Is dredging thru the past a game? If so, what are the rules?

Audio Appliance Design

Thursday the 17th of August 2000, heading home.

So it would store any kind of files; and it would play back files in any common sound format. You'd also be able to record and encode in any of those formats. So it would contain software controls for the configuration of those formats, as well as being able to record just voice. So it would have, besides a built-in mike -- preferably stereo mics actuallly, two mics, one on each side, for something approaching binaural [sound] -- it would also have an input jack, either two input jacks, one for line level, one for microphone level, or it would automatically sense the level of the signal coming in and adjust itself accordingly. Its output jacks would either be two output jacks, one for line level, one for headphone level, or one jack with a switch to select the level of the output.

The file system should have a fair amount of storage, like around a gigabyte, maybe one of those new IBM 25-cent-piece-sized gigabyte drives. Lithium batteries; a docking station that would automatically rechange it when its plugged it. It also be nice if it could function as a walky- talky, either directly, or with the ability to squirt sound files at high speed. I wonder if this would be - no, it wouldn't be a function of Bluetooth, Bluetooth is [limited to] a 25-foot range -- so it'd need CB-type or Family Radio Service / FRS-band capability. It'd be nice if it was also an AM/FM/shortwave receiver; in fact, a wideband communications receiver. And a cellphone. But all that seems a bit much to put into what's essentially a recording and playback device. So it should be usable in conjunction with a tranciever like a Nortel cellphone / walky- talky device.

OK, so let's not make it too busy. Let's make it a cellphone / walky-talky / communications receiver with sound recording/storage/playback capability -- the recording quality and mode to be easily selectable. All that in something the size of a cellphone with a display screen. Oh yeah, it should be a GPS receiver also. The device you carry with it is a handheld sub-notebook computer with foldout keyboard and screen, that's also a book-reader, digital text displayer I should say, which also functions as a camcorder... This would also work in conjunction with a tiny digital portastudio. The handheld computer should also be, er some device in this system, should also be a CD/DVD player [and CD-RW burner]. The handheld should also run voice recognition software so it can transcribe anything that's dictated, or any words that go thru it; and it'd be nice if it had music scoring software, so it could score and notate any music going thru it. Or the music scoring functions may reside in the portastudio, which is also a MIDI controller.

[See my AUDIO APPLIANCE DESIGN NOTES for an expansion of these ideas.]