Inspiring Sight

I was driving south on a San Diego highway when I passed a small, old, beat up, blue pickup truck. It was no different than any number of vehicles headed toward the border, except for the piano in the bed of the truck. The contrast made for a striking visual.

I then wondered who the instrument was for and how happy that person would be to receive it? Was it a surprise? What songs would be played on it? So many questions and so much mystery in my head. Anyway, I think this could be the seed for another music video idea...

Giant Squid - Pictures

Giant Squid

It was the first time in my life that I was happy, excited and violently sick all at the same time.

After spending the weekend watching Discovery shows on the deadly Humboldt Squid, I get a call Monday, from Michael, asking me if I want to go fishing for giant squid. Yes! It was an unquestionable, resounding, unquestionable, unequivocal yes. I hadn't the slightest idea that there were giant squid off the San Diego coast. 

Friday - sunset at the docks in Mission Bay - the last moments of normalcy for the next 24 hours.

The squid, we were told, are about 8 miles off shore - a 40 minute boat ride. During my Rhode Island summers I unloaded many a lobster boat and had a number of opportunities to go out on boats. Never once did I fall seasick. This trip seasickness greeted me like an old friend - and before we even reached our destination.  First that day's food came up and out, followed by everything that was leftover from earlier in the week. Even a ginger ale, that I was hoping would quell my angry stomach, came up immediately. All that was left now were major organs.

As the boat hit the 8 mile mark, the engine was halted and fishermen dropped their lines into the blackness that engulfed the boat. 70 people crammed along the starboard side of the vessel. Lines entangling and men dancing around one another not so gracefully. The back corner of the boat was like a sardine tin of grown men. Fifteen minutes into the fishing and only one squid made its way to the boat's deck - compliments of two ten-year old hispanic boys. Undeniably their first giant squid catch.  

Then, all of a sudden, "squid hit the fan." Poles bowed and excitement rose. It took every ounce of the fishermen's might to reel their lines a couple of inches. Long battles with these squids ended with fishermen yelling, "Color," as their squid surfaced. That's when someone from the crew would rush over, long wooded pole and hook in hand. The squid stood no chance against the hook, but sprayed water and ink like their life depended on it - and it did. Even the second deck of the boat wasn't immune from the shooting water and ink. Soon squid were hitting the deck with a slap and thud. Slap! Thud! From every direction. It wasn't long before the entire gray deck bled black. Fishermen whizzed and shuffled past me in every direction. My head swimming in a sea of nausea and my stomach spinning like a tumble dry cycle. The fishermen stuffed their catch into burlap sacks that lined the center portion of the vessel. For 45 minutes the chaos, excitement and danger (a squid's beak can snap a wooden broom handle and easily a finger or two) continued. It was an adrenaline rush that left everyone smiling wildly. Less than an hour of fishing yielded 420 giant squid. 

It was a long, slow ride back to shore, timed out to enable the crew to filet every last squid. Chop - off goes the head. Chop - off goes the tenticles. Slice - off goes 26 of the 28 layers of membrane and skin. In the end, there were probably enough squid filets to supply all San Diego's restaurant needs for the weekend or longer.

That night, at home in bed, I woke up at 2am feeling like I was still in the ship's galley. The swooshing, spinning and dizziness was inescapable until well into the next day. 

All in all, giant squid fishing an incredible experience, and I would go again, but not without dramamine.       

Country Living

Made a wonderful, random book discovery on Amazon.com: Country Wisdom and Know How. 8,167 useful skills and step-by-step instructions! Here's the short list:

-Attracking hummingbirds

-Building Adirondack furniture

-Cold storing fruits and vegetables

-Concocting elixirs and remedies  

- Cultivating a garlic patch

-Helping orphaned wild birds

-Pickling and preserving

-Restoring hardwood floors

-Etc, etc, etc

This'll have to satisfy my craving to live on a farm - for now.

Racism (Alive and Well)

I was recently in El Cajon (East County San Diego) preparing to do an interview for my current documentary. The room I'd been using at the library, in the preceding days, to conduct interviews was occupied on this day. This left Alex and I scrambling to find a quiet location to conduct the interview. Next door to where we were meeting the subject of our interview, there was a bar with a quiet patio. We got the OK from the bartender and owner of the establishment to use the area for our interview. As we were walking out to get our camera, we were stopped by a Hell's Angel-looking patron. His first words out of his mouth to us were not hello, hi or howdy. He says, "Are you fellahs here to make a documentary about how El Cajon has gone to hell since we elected a black president." Those are some strong first words to a complete stranger, I thought to myself. There were a hundred things I wanted to say to this guy, first and foremost it's Bush who's still running the country, not Obama, but I figured that someone like this is surely a loose canon and not someone I want to start an argument with. I grinned at the dude, bit my lip and walked out the door.

When we came back with our camera and interviewee, the Hell's Angel look alike was speaking with the owner of the bar. He managed to convince the owner, because our interviewee was Iraqi, to not allow us to conduct the interview in his establishment. Again, we smiled, bit our lips and walked out the door. One simple thought ran through my head - racism is alive and well.

New Years

I went to meet friends at a bar, to celebrate the new year, and left as soon as I set foot in the joint. For once in my life, I couldn't bear to be around booze and alcoholics. I ended up celebrating the holiday, alone, with a Carl's Jr spicy chicken sandwich - another unusual choice for me.  

As I think back on New Years from this past decade, they were unquestionably more exciting. Paris, Boston, Atlanta,  Bangkok, Washington DC, Ocean Isle (North Carolina). Yet, somehow Carl's Jr and a warm bed hit the spot this year.