Newest articles on The Sacramento Press written by Jeff McCrory

The Important Things

2010-06-03T03:12:15Z

[A note on the text: This is a little essay I submitted to another publication at the beginning of spring. It was never published, but I stubbornly persist on liking it and wanting others to read it. As gray skies have robbed of us this year of our little window of SoCal weather, I suppose reflections on the nature of spring are not very much in demand, but since this essay was written in the mood of Stravinsky much more than Vivaldi maybe it is fitting after all.]

The coming of spring always reminds me of the things that make the Sacramento region important. There are many things that do, but somehow they get overlooked in favor of sports teams, parking lots and human beings -- in other words, pretentious and trifling things. Of all the important things, I have three favorites.

Ground squirrels top my list. Heading East on the Elvas Freeway, a little ways past the 30th Street on-ramp, there is a wedge of undeveloped land on the right. A chain-link fence stands between it and the freeway. Presumably, the fence is there to keep anyone coming across the field from walking into traffic -- a pretty pointless precaution, if you ask me. However, the ground squirrels have found a use for it. On a sunny day, you will see them perched along the top of the fence, often in pairs.

The first time I saw the squirrels on the fence, I had to get off the freeway at Cal Expo and circle back around to make sure I hadn't hallucinated them. I look for them every time I drive that stretch of freeway, and I still can't quite believe my eyes. The sight of them is too miraculous not to be the result of some kind of perceptual anomaly.

Bee trees come second. Last week, I was sitting in the grass with my dogs. We were somewhere in Carmichael, listening to the relaxing and hopeful sound of bees buzzing. A couple of times a year, I check up on two feral bee colonies that have taken up residence in oak trees. Feral honey bees are bees who have parted ways with humans to try to make it on their own in the wild. I've read that they tend to have weaker colonies than those which people manage. Mite infestation can easily decimate them as well. So I'm always worried that the hives will be gone when I go looking for them. Thankfully, both hives remain intact.

Finally, I must mention copulating snakes. If you hope to see copulating snakes, you'll have to do a lot of walking around. In the decade I've spent walking around the Sacramento region, I've seen just one pair of gopher Snakes entwined in the sexual embrace.

According to Greek myth, the prophet Tiresias saw a pair of copulating snakes. Like me, he was utterly entranced by them. He squatted down and watched them for a long time. But the snakes sensed his presence and attacked him. In the struggle, he killed the female, and as a result he was turned into a woman.

I've never killed a snake or had a sex change, but the myth makes a lot of sense to me. My pair of copulating snakes eventually separated and slithered away. I felt vaguely guilty about invading their privacy, as if doing so might have interrupted something vitally important.

Photo by Jeff McCrory. Why no photos of the creatures? Sometimes you get what you pay for, I'm afraid. But if you want to see a YouTube video of a Bee tree, here.

A Trial

2010-01-16T01:17:52Z

The surveillance state is a miracle of convenience.

In the old days, if you ran a red light, you had to go through the rigmarole of being pulled over by a police officer. Today, by contrast, you are more likely to see a flash of light from one of the red-light camera mounted at intersections around the county and a week or so later receive a set of photographs in the mail: one of you behind the wheel of your car with a swear word still crinkling your lips; another of your car entering the intersection illegally; and, finally, a close-up of your licence plate. Just think: all the incriminating evidence sent directly to your home, and you didn't even have to ask for it. It's almost as clever as those gadgets for dicing radishes they hawk on TV at three a.m.

The downside is a red light violation will cost you $426. When I got my "courtesy notice" last November telling me I had to pay this sum for allegedly running a red light on Madison Avenue, I started screaming, "A boot is stamping on my face--forever!" George Orwell said something similar about the threat of totalitarianism, but for me it was just about the money.

Anyway, I vowed to fight the $426 injustice. I showed up at the Carol Miller Justice Center on the day of my court appearance, where I met a swarm of people who were there for the same reason. A comforting thought: the world is full of dummies just like you.

I entered the courtroom, and the bailiff, a giant Sheriff's deputy, began barking orders at everyone: take a seat, don't talk, line up when the judge calls your name. Maybe I've been watching too much Slavoj Žižek on YouTube lately, but the bailiff seemed refreshingly free of what Žižek might call "the chocolate laxitive of liberal, democratic ideology." He was there to enforce the iron will of the state, and he wasn't going to pretend otherwise. He wasn't even going to be nice about it. Whenever he caught someone whispering, he pointed a finger and said, "One more time, you're out."

The court reminded me of the Pentecostal church of my childhood. The rows of pews were the same. The preacher was at his pulpit, flanked by his deacons. I was called up to the altar, but instead of accepting Jesus into my heart or speaking in tongues I gave my plea.

"Not guilty," I said.

The judge told me to take a seat and wait for the DA to come talk to me. I got a little excited at this point. They were sending in the DA to rattle my cage. Did they really think they were going to break me?

Actually, I meet with an assistant DA. One always holds out the hope, in the back of one's mind, that the people one meets in real life will be like the people you see on TV. But the ADA I met was nothing like the flinty DAs that you see on TV cop shows. He wasn't a moral beacon in the murk of an evil world. He was more like a car salesman -- one who already knows he is going to sell you the shabby Honda on lot four.

"So have you seen your video?" the ADA said blandly.

There is a video. They don't tell you that. I followed the ADA into a tiny room, where another guy was already viewing his video. Clearly, he hadn't heard anything about a video, either.

"All I know is that I saw a car about to hit me," he said. "That's why I ran the red."

"Hm, I don't really see a car behind you," said the ADA working his case.

The went on jabbering about the car he'd supposedly seen behind him. He could have sworn it was there (though it was good he hadn't swore under oath that he had). I wanted to tell the guy give it up. His fib had been exposed. But I had my own video to attend to. In traffic court, everybody has to work out his own salvation.

It was a close call, but they had me. My car entered the intersection a half a second before the light turned red. The ADA played back the video four times for me. I asked to see the time stamp of the video. He was happy to oblige. Again, I had to marvel at such technology. Imagine a world where you could always go back play back the video: a world without uncertainty.

The ADA wanted to close the deal. He had the paperwork all filled out. I just had to sign on the dotted line. I hesitated. There was the issue of a small mistake. I had been charged with running a red arrow, not a red light. I hadn't even noticed the mistake until the ADA pointed it out to me.

"Looks like they gave you the wrong violation," he said. "You weren't turning left."

He scribbled out the mistaken charge with a ball point pen and wrote in the correct one.

Was there legal hay to be made from this mistake? Maybe or maybe not. The sensible thing would be to take the case to court and test the theory. But I wasn't feeling sensible. Not after seeing my video. Technicalities aside, I had run the red light. I had seen the proof with my own eyes. Was I going to be like the other guy who insisted that there had been a car behind him when everybody could see that there wasn't?

No, I couldn't do it. I signed, then I went before the judge and changed my plea no contest.

It appeared that the surveillance state, as it presently exists in Sacramento, at least, is not quite ready to abolish uncertainty and confusion from the world. It was a nice dream to have, though, even if it was short-lived and cost me $426.

Photos by Jeff McCrory

Music and Fashion Go Together Like Fire and Rain

2009-12-14T14:26:43Z

What: Review of Blow Up, a music and fashion show.

Where: Clubhouse 24.

Punchline: Pay no attention to the timid man behind the curtain.

It was raining Saturday night in Midtown. Not drizzling, raining. It was coming down so hard that any heads of hair not beneath an umbrella or the hood of a raincoat had that fresh-from-the-shower look. Meanwhile, on the sidewalk outside Clubhouse 24, a newly opened party space at 24th and J Street, there was some kind of sculpture/assemblage in the form of a tree. Christmas tree bulbs the size of disco balls decorated its branches, and it was on fire. Well, more accurately, it had been rigged with a large propane tank so that flames shot out of metal tubes that made up some of its branches, but it looked like it was on fire. It looked like a tree on fire in the middle of a rain storm. I stood in front of it and stared. As you might imagine, I was bewildered, but I was also getting wet, so I went inside.

The first thing I noticed when I entered Clubhouse 24 was the giant head on the wall. It was a cut-out of Twiggy, the eponymously slender fashion model. A psychedelic light projector cast a puddle of rainbows across her face. Again, I stood and stared, but unlike the fire tree the Twiggy head didn't confound me. A theme was emerging, and when I spotted some women dressed like Chelsea girls and some men dressed in retro mod attire it was confirmed: I had arrived at a costumed affair dedicated to 1960s decadence. All I knew about the event beforehand was that Th' Losin Streaks would be playing and that Joni Jacobs (full disclosure: she's a friend), proprietor of Opaline's Closet, was putting on a fashion show. Later, I learned that the DJ and promoter, Paul Tunkin, had come from London, England to give Sacramento a taste of his Blow Up club. The evening's entertainments were in honor of his arrival.

Balloons covered the floor in the room where the Th' Losin Streaks were setting up. Once in a while someone would pick one up and bat it into the air. I hate balloons, because they inevitably pop and startle me. By and by, someone smacked a balloon right into my face. This was an ice breaker for the guy standing behind me to strike up a conversation. We were both dressed unfashionably (I was wearing my "good" blue jeans) and had beards, so it made sense we should talk. I like small talk only inasmuch as it is mundane and practical. My intolerance towards prattle is the most macho thing about me. Some might give that award to my Grizzly Adams beard, but in fact my beard is not macho at all. It's what I like to call manly soft.

Happily, my interlocutor shared my bias against prattle, so we talked about the rising cost of liquor licences and remarked on the exposed rafters above our heads. He said the building reminded him of an auto mechanic's garage. I agreed that it did. Lots of empty space, lots of dark corners, a bit chilly, unadorned, clean but grungy.

We were just getting on to the topic of business opportunities in Placerville when his date arrived, so I went out into the patio, where I found my friend Joni, and she introduced me to her friend Tina and Tina's husband. Joni always introduces me to people as "a journalist." In reality, I am a feckless blogger who freelances on occasion, but this is usually too difficult to explain, so I just shrug my shoulders and go with the characterization. But this evening the white lie paid off.

"So you want to go back stage and take pictures of the girls?" asked Tina's husband.

"Take pictures of the fashion models?"

"Yeah."

I had my Nikon Coolpix with me, so why not?

We pushed our way through the crowd. Th' Losin Streaks had started their set while I was outside and filled the room. I paused to watch them a moment before my rendezvous with the "girls." I'm not sure what to think of the Streaks. Their songs don't do much for me, but they

are a mesmerizing band to see live.
Tim Foster looks angry and dangerous when he gets on stage. I don't know how else to explain it. The whole show you are expecting him to knife somebody or, more likely, fry them with his laser eyes. Yes, I secretly believe Tim Foster is the X-men character known as Cyclops.

Across the stage from Foster, Mike Farrell is having voodoo fits. His little leaps into the air and Mick-Jagger-ticulations seem at once to be postmodern quotations and genuine precognitive stimulus responses, as if God were tapping his soul with a rubber hammer.

Shrugg beats the living daylights out of his drums and bounces his sticks into the air, and Stan, the bassist, adds a little low-end melody to the simple changes.

The "girls" were standing in a semi-circle in a cramped room. A curtain kept them hidden from view of the audience. Most of them were dancing and flailing their arms to the manic rock'n'roll blaring from the other side of the curtain.

"Just tell them what you want them to do," said Tina's husband.

There was no way I was going to do that. I couldn't even look the women in the eyes, much less command them to pose for me. It didn't matter that I told myself that a model's job was to pose in interesting and provocative ways for the camera or, if you prefer, the male gaze. I'm too much of a nosferatu man (or, if you prefer, a creep), and I didn't know how to share in the joy these women felt about dressing up in beautiful clothes for exhibit. I snapped my shots in a hurry and made my escape.

The fashion show itself was anticlimactic after my moment backstage. Access has its downside, too.

I did get a few shots with all the models in front of the giant head of Twiggy. That made me happy.

The city police shut the party down some time after midnight. People wandered into the streets, many to finish off the night at the Golden Bear. It had stopped raining, and the fire tree was no longer burning. This time I didn't stop to puzzle over any apparent absurdity. Somehow it all seemed perfectly logical.

Don't let rain fool you, summer is almost here

2009-05-05T13:31:52Z

Unseasonable rain showers have kept maypole dancing to a minimum for the first few days of May. But longtime dwellers of the Central Valley know to keep their shorts and tank tops handy. It is going to be scorching hot soon. Spring is effectively over. Like a clock-watcher at the end of her work shift, spring is so out of here the moment the summer sun arrives, and nobody is going to see her mild days and chilly nights again until 2010.

So forget looking up at the cloudy skies. Look down on the ground. Wildflowers -- or weeds, if you please -- tell us that summer is coming. If you've done any crawling around in the grass in the last week or two, you'll have noticed that most wildflowers have gone to seed. The bees and Persephone have done the work of regeneration. The biosphere gets another turn on the solar the merry-go-round.

This Storksbill fruit, for instance, has grown its full five inches. There is nothing left for it to do but dry up and get stuck in your sock.

The wild radish (yellow) and the ubiquitous hairy vetch (white-tipped purple) have both been knocked up and have seed pods to show for it.

(These wild radishes do in fact taste like radishes).

The rose clover below has a beautiful generic name: Trifolium, which is Latin for three leaves. It is in the pea family like the vetch. The writer is unsure where the clover keeps its seeds, but if you look very closely at its flower you can see the typical Fabaceae form of each of its florets.

All photos were taken by Jeff McCrory at the Sunrise section of the American River parkway

Homeless advocates vow to stop the disbanding of Tent City

2009-04-15T03:45:38Z

The Midtown Monthly blog is reporting that homeless advocates and charity workers are asking community members vigils this week as the police disband the homeless encampment known internationally as Tent City. In a letter to the Monthly, Greg Bunker of Francis House of Sacramento writes, "We are willing to be arrested on behalf of our homeless folks rather than see them be moved or be threatened with an 'arrest' if they do not move when they have NO SAFE PLACE to go!!!!"

Sister Libby Fernandez of Loaves & Fishes, Paula Lomazzi of SHOC and Mark Merin of Mark Merin Law Firm also signed the letter.

The letter calls on community members to "bare witness" to police action at the Tent City this week, even if they do not wish to participate in civil disobedience.

Easter Bunny

2009-04-13T01:30:16Z

American River Parkway, 5:33 PM.

I'm not saying this bunny is necessarily the one. I'm just saying I photographed him on Easter.

The Stonehenge of Fair Oaks

2009-04-02T07:33:50Z

A megalithic ruin, built who knows when -- probably "hundreds of years before the dawn of time" -- the Stonehenge of Fair Oaks is not hard to find. Go to the Sunrise Area of the American River Parkway, walk east from the boat launch until you find an inconspicuous trail head on your right and follow it to the ruin.

Other than being a meet-up location for teenagers on four twenty and a canvass for taggers, the ruin has no discernible purpose. Conceivably, you could make a wish there and hope the ruin has special powers to make it come true. Dancing naked near the ruin sounds fun in the abstract, but it is not advisable due to its proximity to the fire road, which the rangers patrol frequently. It might be a nice spot for making out, assuming you haven't grown too jaded for such frivolity. (I know many of you have, alas). Patches of moss cover its east side; everyone knows that moss is conducive to romance.

Whatever purpose you give to the ruin, it awaits you in silence. Life is fleeting. Don't miss your chance to visit the Stonehenge of Fair Oaks.

Postscript.
The writer does not understand why people spend time and money geocaching, but if he did he might hide a message for you that read, "I don't know about you, but I was dragged here by an Angel. Note: This Angel, who is now become a Devil, is my particular friend; we often read the Bible together in its infernal or diabolical sense, which the world shall have if they behave well. So behave well."

You know, just to blow your mind.

Another spring walk

2009-03-29T02:41:58Z

Good taste prevents me from spelling out for you what it is about spring that really excites us, but the pipevine swallowtail butterflies (Battus philenor) in the photos above will give you some idea what I am talking about. After this all too literal hookup, the female will lay her eggs on the undersides of the leaves of the California Dutchman's-pipe vine, which is endemic to California.

The California Poppy (Eschscholzia californica) is hard not to love, being our state flower and all, but to tell you the truth its floppy, orange pedals annoy me. For one, the pedals are difficult to photograph. Secondly, they are too obviously beautiful. Like movie stars or fiscal years with never-ending budget fights, you can barely distinguish one from the next.

However, the poppy bud is really fantastic. It looks like a witch's hat.

By shooting up close and in underexposed natural light, I've made the blue dicks (Dichelostemma capitatum) above seem a bit more haunting than they really are. You'll mostly find this pleasant native of the West Coast of the United States in shady areas.

Finally, here is a rare glimpse of the Sacto Sasquatch (Sasquatchus Sacramentis). In addition to its unkempt beard, you can recognize this species by its habit of wearing horizonally striped shirts and being an annoying know-it-all. As Ms. Sasquatch has said on occasion, "Okay, let's hear what the expert has to say on the subject."

Sore throat last minute blues

2009-03-27T07:55:47Z

Despite a sore throat, I made a last minute decision to catch some improvisational music at Fox and Goose pub Thursday evening. I missed most of Antennae's and Kairos's set, but the Lost Trio made coming out worth the trouble. Ranging from bebop standards to Radiohead and orginal compostions, the trio's set went for a little over an hour.

Vernal Equinox 2009

2009-03-21T22:13:25Z

The equinox happens twice a year: once in the spring and once in the fall. Due to the tilt of the earth as it orbits the sun, the relative length of daylight expands and contracts throughout the year. At the equinox, the length of the day is exactly equal to the length of the night. Actually, according to National Geographic News, "The true days of day-night equality always fall before the vernal equinox and after the autumnal, or fall, equinox." Traditionally, the equinoxes mark the beginning of spring and fall, whereas the solstices mark summer and winter.

Photos taken on the American River Parkway, near Sunrise Blvd.

The Scoop

2009-03-13T04:46:06Z

While strolling beside the American River during my daily walk with the dog this evening, I heard the sound of a siren in the distance. A moment later I spied a plume of blue smoke rising in the sky. My first thoughts were that I had run across a wild fire, and if I were able to get some good photographs of the fire fighters taming the flames, I'd have my first real scoop for the Sacramento Press. In fact, I thought, if the fire got big enough, and I got my reporting done quickly enough, and my step-daughter wasn't playing Sims on the computer when I got home (or if I could bully or bribe her out of the computer chair) and my wife didn't rush home from work, wanting to know what was for dinner, then I could get the story bashed out and even scoop those jokers from the TV news. Their "Livecopters" and satellite hookups could not help them now. I was there first!

I rushed to the crest of the hill. Instead of an inferno, I saw about eight teenagers kicking sand into a campfire. Some of them were clutching skimboards. Obviously they had been playing in the bird pond I wrote about recently, and they had probably built the fire to dry their clothes. I glowered at them. Camp fires are prohibited in the Parkway, and I was especially angry that they were befouling the sandy beach of the bird pond.

However, timidity and cowardice got the better of me, and I let them run away without yelling down at them the curses that were resounding in my head. I went down to the beach. In addition to leaving a smoldering fire, they had left beer cans, potato chip wrappers and a dirty sock behind. The was no danger of the fire spreading, so I walked on towards the siren. Perhaps I'd run into a Sheriff deputy or a Park Ranger, and I could give a description of the fleeing arsonists.

"Yes, deputy," I imagined myself saying. "There were about eight of them, mostly boys, but a few girls, too. (There's always "a few girls" with that sort, eh?) They were heading in the direction of Bannister Park last I saw them. I'm sure you could still catch them. And, you know, they haven't completely closed down Guantanamo Bay. In case, I don't know, you think striping them of their Constitutional rights might be merited."

I arrived at the bend in the river a half a mile or so north of the San Juan Rapids. It was obvious by then that the siren had come (they were silent now) from the other side of the the river from me. I should have figured that from the start, since there were no roads on my side of the river. But visions of scooping Dann Shively had clouded my reason.

There were no firetruck to be seen, just an ambulance and a Ranger's vehicle behinds some trees. I could not see what was happening. Would a real reporter swim across the river to find out? I wasn't sure, but I decided that in any case I wasn't swimming. A man and a woman were picking their way down the steep river bank on the other side.

"What's going on over there?" I cried, feeling, for a moment, like I belonged in a Mark Twain novel.

"A biker wasn't wearing a helmet. He got hurt in an accident," the woman yelled back. She meant a bicyclist, I assumed.

I went back to the bird pond and put out the fire completely, then I picked up the trash off the beach, save for the dirty sock, which I couldn't bare to pick up without latex gloves.

My scoop had been seriously demoted in newsworthiness. Bicyclist wipes out on the parkway, not wearing helmet, ambulance called out. But a citizen-journalist has to follow the story where it leads like any other reporter. And I had.

That was good enough.

A third way for the marriage debate

2009-03-11T06:44:42Z

The AP is reporting that a pair of college students have proposed a ballot measure that will replace the word "marriage" with the term "domestic partnership" in all state laws. Secretary of State Debra Bowen said today that supporters can begin collecting the 700,000 signatures to get the measure on the ballot. Domestic partnerships will retain all the rights of marriage, and all couples will be eligable for domestic partnership, regardless of sexual orientation.

Is this a good or bad idea? Please express yourself.

Bird pond

2009-03-11T04:57:35Z

These photos were taken at a pond near the American River at Sunrise Blvd. Birds, who have spent all day feeding in the river, flock to the pond at sun down to spend the night. There are turtles, too. But turtles are much more camera shy than birds.

Wildflower season has begun

2009-03-09T21:06:10Z

Besides hayfever, what do weeks of rain followed by blue skies and balmy weather bring to Sacramento?

Wildflowers, of course.

There are preserves in the area where you can see rare, native wildflowers. But for people who are taking a walk along the American River Parkway or just poking around in the backyard, here are four wildflowers you are almost sure to enoucounter.

(The common name of the flowers are linked to hi-res photos)

1. Shepherd's purse (Capsella bursa-pastoris) This pretty weed is a great wildflower to point out to children. It's unmistakable seedpod appearently looks like a shepherd's purse, but to our modern eyes it looks like a valentine's heart. The child will probably be able to idenify this wildflower easily after the first time it is pointed out to him. If look at the base of the stem, you will see a a rosette of lobed leaves. The flowers are small and white.

2. California manroot (Marah fabaceus) is in the Cucurbitaceae family, which includes melons, gourds, squashes and cucumbers. M. fabaceus produces a small, spiny cucumber in the summer. You will find this clinging vine in shady areas. It likes to climb small trees or insinuate itself among brambles. Look for its white, star-like flowers and its coiled tendrils. M. fabaceus has both male and female flowers. The male flowers grow in clusters, while the female flowers grow singly.

3. Wild radish (Raphanus raphanistrum) You can see this wildflower along any stretch of Sacramento's freeways. You will know this invasive weed by its cruciform flower pedals. The pedals vary in color from white to purple to yellow. Towards summer, it bears a fruit called a silique that smells and tastes, not suprisingly, like a radish.

4. Henbit or dead nettle (Lamium amplexicaule) to appreciate this flower, you've got to get down on your belly and examine it up close. Standing over it, you will think it is an ugly thing. You'll notice its leaves first. They cling to the stem at three to several levels. When you get your eye up close to the purple flowers, you'll notice that they begin as a long, delicate tube that expands into a two-lipped corrolla. The pedals are spotted and hairy.

Mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful

2009-02-14T04:12:18Z

"The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful." — E.E. Cummings

Photos taken ARP/Sunrise Bridge.

Cheryl Dell, Melanie Sill, are you listening?

2009-02-12T06:46:02Z

I have a simple suggestion for the Sacramento Bee. It's an experiment. It might not work, but since the ad revenues for newspapers are drying up faster than the lakes and reservoirs of our drought-ridden state it's time the Bee took a few chances.

Why doesn't the Bee try to sell ads on its Twitter page?

Now before the Bee did that it would have to promote its Twitter page. Currently, it has only 468 followers, about half as many followers as the Sacramento Press's Twitter page has. This fact is indicative of the Bee being at sea where new media is concerned.

Twitter works really well for aggregating the content of the Bee's online paper. I unsubscribed to its RSS feed in my Google Reader, because I found it difficult to follow in that format. However, I check my Twitter page all day, and I almost always read the Bee headlines. In fact, the Bee is one of the reasons I check my Twitter page all day.

Now let's assume that I am not an outlier, but the norm for Twitter users. I like hiking. So let's say the Bee sells an ad to REI that gets posted in tandem with every article it posts about outdoors activities. Maybe the ad is doubled as a banner on the acticle's actual page. Maybe the Twitter posting is sold as a value-added with the banner ad. Whatever the details, the Bee would be taking a bold step in the direction of micro advertising.

Again, this idea may have already been mulled over and found wanting. I'm putting it out there because the idea of the Bee folding up or getting entirely eviscerated disturbs me. I want the Bee to everything it can to adapt to the changing media landscape. I want it to try new things until it hits upon a business model that will make it profitable again. I love new media outfits like The Sacramento Press, but they are not yet ready to take up the slack if local, dead-tree newspapers go the way of the horse and buggy.

Be Grateful for cloudy skies

2009-01-25T03:50:25Z

The Bee was full of cloudy skies today with news of soaring unemployment rates and the fiscal undoing of my employer, the County of Sacramento. It put me in a gloomy mood.

Yet when I took my dog out for his walk this afternoon the actual cloudy skies brightened my outlook. The clouds were beautiful to look at, for one, and made me feel grateful for the rain they carried, which our drought-ridden state needs so badly.

So I took some pictures of them.

Olmstead loop trail

2009-01-21T04:41:09Z

A few pictures from hike I took on Sunday near the town of Cool. Directions to the trailhead and GPS tracks can be had here. Apparently, this area is popular among geocachers. More photos here.

Sunsets are too easy

2009-01-16T23:19:05Z

Sunrise Blvd Bridge

Keep right and straight on to the birds

2009-01-16T22:59:59Z

AR Parkway, near Sunrise Blvd.

Sunset on the American River

2009-01-07T04:59:56Z

These were taken on a foot bridge, near the Sunrise Blvd overpass.

Mushroom Hunt

2009-01-07T04:07:01Z

I took some pictures of mushroom on my walk by the the American River, and I geocached them here on Google maps. I only spotted four. I went for my walk after work, and it got dark before I had even gone two miles.

A Walk at the American River

2008-12-22T23:16:03Z

More at The Brambles.

A Walk at the American River

2008-12-22T23:04:38Z

(Cross posted at the Bramble)