A Work Progressing

My 30th great grandfather was not a barbarian, he was Conan I ‘le Tort’ de Rennes, duc de Bretagne. ‘Le Tort’, meaning ‘the crooked’. I’m assuming he had some sort of physical deformity.

Like most nobles with castles, he had a company of fighting men that he would lead if required by his liege lord. If not, then he would lead his own men on various attempts to gain more land by fighting other nearby castles.

Conan decided to fight his brother-in-law, Fulk III, of Anjou. Conan was laying seige to the city of Nantes, and Fulk was rushing his men to counter Conan.

Conan decided to retreat back to his castle to fight Fulk, but could not get away from Fulk, so he stopped and prepared the battlefield with some surprises.

Conan had pits dug, filled with water and covered with branches. When Fulk came up, Conan lured his men towards the traps. The ruse worked and Conan should have won the battle.

Unfortunately Conan was feeling pretty confident so he stopped, it was a hot day, so he paused to take off his armor. A few men in Fulk’s company happened to see thus and attacked Conan, then killed him.

The rest of Conan’s men fled back to the castle, and then surrendered to Fulk.

Conan had to foresight to endow Mont. St. Michael, and after his death he was buried there. Within the next few hundred years it became the incredible place we see today.

The Curious Case of the Speed Bumps

Allow me to regale you with a tale of “special knowledge” that revolves around the design and implementation of the now-famous barriers that grace the streets of Berkeley. I know the person who conceived, designed, and implemented the system. He was a genuine nice person.

If you’ve been a long-time resident, you might recall the era when the grid system of the neighborhood roads provided a convenient escape from the main thoroughfares during the chaos of major commutes. A simple drop down a few blocks, and you could journey north, east, west, or south without a hitch.

For Berkeley residents, these barriers might be viewed with favor, as they bring about safer streets and slower-moving cars. However, for those seeking to outmaneuver traffic jams, these barriers are nothing short of a labyrinth, forcing one to memorize a convoluted web of routes that bypass these roadblocks.

A few years ago, one of my neighbors embarked on a quest to address the issue of speeding cars in our residential areas. Signs alone didn’t seem to do the trick, and even the acquisition of miniature plastic figurines brandishing warning flags failed to deter speedsters.

Then, like a beacon of inspiration, someone resurrected the age-old saying, “Watch out for the speed bumps of life.” Ah, speed bumps, the solution seemed clear—install them on every long, straight road where drivers had a tendency to accelerate, and serenity would prevail.

Of course, such a plan came with its own set of challenges, primarily the cost. The actual speed bump wasn’t exorbitant, but the warning signs were another matter entirely. There were dual signs on both sides of the road—one forewarning the impending bump and the other declaring its immediate presence. That meant a minimum of four signs for each bump, not to mention the generous application of paint to make sure no one missed the bump.

Nevertheless, the neighborhood embraced the plan. Local drivers slowed down and navigated the bumps with finesse. As for those who either failed to read the signs or simply disregarded them, they would hit the bumps at 25 miles per hour or more, producing resounding noises that echoed for blocks. I confess to remaining somewhat befuddled about the exact placement of these bumps.

Then, a curious revelation surfaced thanks to my daughter. At first, she suspected a typo, but upon closer inspection, it became evident that all the signs echoed the same phrase: “Speed Humps.”

“What signs? What typo?” I inquired.

“The speed bump warning signs,” she explained, “They say ‘Speed Humps.'”

“Speed Humps?” I repeated in bewilderment. “Since when did the Department of Transportation become involved with…rapid dating?”

Suddenly, the local birth rates took on a whole new perspective. Perhaps it wasn’t the COVID lockdown that was responsible. Perhaps it was the signs that nobody truly reads—working their magic in the subconscious. Or could it be that a hump is simply a larger bump? The mysteries of the local speed “humps” persist.

I just looked it up on a transportation web site. A bump is bigger than a hump! Who would have thought?

There’s a kind of knowing that sits apart from the rest—what some call special knowledge. The kind that makes you seem prescient in a meeting, or keeps you from running aground when the fog thickens. It’s knowing where the riptides and hidden rocks live.

Most of us don’t have it. We drift along, improvising, mistaking guesses for insight. With time, what little we once knew grows dim—like the memory of how to row a boat we haven’t seen in years.

When something strange happens, we do what humans always do: we try to make sense of it. Sherlock Holmes offered a convenient script—when every ordinary explanation fails, the impossible must be examined.

Years ago, I had such a moment. A rural road. A dark reservoir on my left. No lights, no shoulders, just the curve of asphalt and my headlights cutting through brush. Then—an eruption from the foliage. A blur of legs and motion, fast and upright, crossing my path in a heartbeat. Too big for a dog, too balanced for a bear, too quick for anything that ought to be on two legs. Black jacket, fluttering tails, perhaps lighter trousers.

I arrived home unsettled but rational: the mind must label what it sees. So I told my wife I had nearly hit a three-and-a-half-foot-tall creature in evening wear, bent forward like a Marx Brother fleeing a wedding. She laughed so hard I considered waking the children to join in.

I shelved the story. But two weeks later, same road—there it was again, slightly ahead this time, caught clean in the beams. The same tuxedo tails, the same improbable sprint. I kept that encounter to myself.

A week after that, I met him again—at home. Not a phantom, but a whole family of them, perched in my century-old oak and strutting beneath it. Turkeys. Real, live turkeys.

For most people, a turkey is an abstract thing: frozen, shrink-wrapped, cartooned on greeting cards. Seeing one alive—standing in your tree—rearranges the world a little.

Later, in conversation with our veterinarian, I relayed my “gnome in a tuxedo” tale. He laughed, then leaned closer:

“Your neighbor imported Southern California turkeys years ago,” he said. “Looks like they finally took the hint.”

And that, I suppose, is special knowledge—not the knowing itself, but the moment when the absurd resolves into sense. It doesn’t erase the mystery; it just lets you laugh at it with better aim.

I stumbled upon two new musicians this last week. I’m a little shocked that I hadn’t heard about them, because they have been around awhile.

I encourage you to find a good YouTube video of their work!

Nature Boys emerged in the early 1900s, embracing long hair and sun-kissed skin as symbols of their deep connection to nature. Jack Kerouac mentioned them in “On The Road,” recalling encounters with these “Nature Boy saints” during his 1947 travels in Los Angeles.

Eden Ahbez, a standout among the Nature Boys, was a musician and songwriter who frequented the Eutropheon. He played piano and crafted flutes, eventually composing the hit song “Nature Boy” for Nat King Cole as an homage to their lifestyle. The song topped charts for eight weeks and became a classic, performed by artists like Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, and Peggy Lee.

Despite the attention, Nature Boys led hermit-like lives, seeking solitude in hills, trees, and caves. The term “Nature Boy” loosely translated “naturmenschen” and was embraced mainly by German immigrants and their followers, adherents of “Lebensreform” or life reform.

Bill Pester, an early Lebensreform influencer, mentored the Nature Boys. He left Germany at 19 to avoid military service in 1906, promoting nature worship, literature, music, nudism, and a raw foods diet. Settling in Palm Springs, he roamed the desert barefoot, playing his guitar and forming bonds with Native Americans.

In the 1960s, elder Nature Boys influenced the emerging Hippie generation, serving as spiritual guides and role models. However, they didn’t endorse all Hippie aspects, as Lebensreform discouraged drug use. Gordon Kennedy’s book, “Children of the Sun,” traces Hippie origins to 19th-century Germany, revealing the deep roots of the American counterculture.

Recognizing these earlier movements reshapes our understanding of the 1960s and the global consciousness movement today. The Hippie narrative, often focused on middle-class youth dropping out, only scratches the surface. A deeper story stretches back to the 1940s with the Nature Boys and Lebensreform movements introduced by German immigrants.

Source: realitysandwich.com

A good friend recently gave three boxes of art books. I couldn’t refuse them. There were images that I haven’t seen. There were sketches that demanded to be re-drawn and colorized. More tribute art!

A Multifaceted 19th-Century Explorer, Linguist, and Renaissance Man

Sir Richard Burton was a remarkable figure of the 19th century, known for his incredible talents, achievements, and daring exploits. His life story is one of adventure, intellectual curiosity, and cultural exploration that earned him the prestigious title of knighthood.

He was born in 1821 in England and showed a keen interest in languages and cultures from a young age. He attended Trinity College, Oxford, where he excelled in his studies, particularly in the study of languages and literature.

One of Sir Richard Burton’s most remarkable feats was his proficiency in an astonishing 29 different languages. This linguistic prowess allowed him to communicate and immerse himself in the diverse cultures he encountered during his travels. His ability to understand and speak languages fluently facilitated his explorations and interactions with local populations.

Burton’s exploration journeys took him to some of the most remote and challenging regions of the world. He is perhaps best known for his exploration of East Africa, particularly his quest to find the source of the Nile River. His travels through the Arabian Peninsula, India, and Africa yielded invaluable insights into geography, anthropology, and ethnography.

Beyond his exploration, Sir Richard Burton was a prolific author. His writings include travelogues, translations of classical literature, and even his own poetry. His translation of “One Thousand and One Nights” and “The Kama Sutra” are still considered among the definitive versions of these texts.

Burton was not just a scholar and explorer; he was also a skilled fencer. His expertise in fencing added to his reputation as a Renaissance man, demonstrating both mental and physical prowess.

Despite his extraordinary accomplishments, Sir Richard Burton’s contributions were sometimes underappreciated in his time. His unorthodox methods and controversial beliefs often led to conflicts with Victorian society’s norms. However, his legacy has grown in stature over the years, as modern scholars and admirers recognize the depth and breadth of his achievements.

Sir Richard Francis Burton’s life was a tapestry of adventure, intellectualism, and cultural immersion. His ability to master languages, his courage as an explorer, and his literary contributions make him a truly remarkable figure in history. His legacy continues to inspire those who value the pursuit of knowledge, the embrace of diverse cultures, and the spirit of exploration. ated.

Still, there is the fact that thousands know of Indiana Jones, a fictional man, yet the real person of Sir Richard Burton is largely forgotten.

Well, not perfect. That’s a long ways off. Practice makes things better is remarkably true. My professional life did not make use of color, or at least rarely. Much of the design that I produced had to by printed in-house, and in those days it wasn’t in four color process, or even two color spor. It was B&W, and tones. Unless I was willing to run the color and clean the press afterwards. Needless to say, my work experience did not improve my color skills.

Of course I still taught the principles of color, not only ambient but projected. My photography classes were filled with color practice and information. It’s just that sitting down and making a reasonable working palette was not something that I normally did, day in and day out. I felt unknowing.

So I few years ago I start a project of colorizing black and whit photographs. Instead of just using random screen shots from the web, I picked Hollywood headshots of the stars from 1920-1960s. It didn’t really matter so long as they were high res, and with a great gray-scale factor.

The benefit it that the photos were generally people that I know, so my end product should look like them. And the real big plus is that the photographers knew what they were doing. Unfortunately they were often hired by the studios and no credit was given to them.

I worked about three months on a little more than 100 photos. I learned a lot, and it was progressive, so I got better. My technique was to use filters that I made in PhotoShop to produce color shifts that were pleasing but somewhat surprising. I never knew how much green and blue are undertones in skin.

Eventually I found some free apps that had filters that did about 80% of what I wanted. I manually entered a layer for the other 20%. Filters almost always harms details, so I entered other layers for hair, eyes, mouth, eyebrows, and even color foundation.

By the end of the project I felt somewhat knowing. With other projects the knowing became more complex, so now I feel that I might want to go back and re-do those first images. That that any were gross, well, a few were.

In the end, I just found more headshots, and for the last month or so I’ve been making a bunch of color. This is my new Hollywood Headshots.

Anita Page

Searching for old videos of classic songs will also bring forth other possibilities. The second time that Metropolis came by, I stopped to look for a few minutes. The 1927 masterpiece by Fritz Lang was a treasure and I had forgotten most of the scenes. What I remembered most was the epic movie poster.

Maybe it was time to watch it again and snap some screen shots.

(A guest post from my brother Ed)

I watch America struggle with her social issues. I see the political and economic failures, the corruption and injustices, I see the deception, the confusion, the oppression and victimization of the middle class, and I keep up fairly well with global current events.

But, as I continue to watch my Smart TV, tablet, and IPhone, I can only take so much before I need a Gunsmoke break, — to catch up with Marshall Dillon, Kitty, Festus, and Doc.  Other times I might catch an episode of The Andy Griffith Show.

Now, we need to understand that the TV Dodge City, and Mayberry RFD, were towns full up with sinners — there was no shortage of sinners, both in front of, and behind the camera — sinners who all made a living entertaining a nation brimming with sinning viewers. Why were the shows so popular?

Unlike our culture today, back then, we knew down deep that we were sinners!, We knew we had our personal moral failures! — but, even so, back in those days, we wanted to watch shows where strong moral messages won the day.

Gunsmoke had a 17 year run of over 500 episodes. Dillon shot hundreds of bad people in cases of justified self defense.  Just like other 50’s and 60’s family sitcoms, the Gunsmoke plots had moral final messages, which were backed up by Marshall Dillion’s fists, or his Colt .44’s.  Dillon was a righteous-like figure who everyone in Dodge, and at home knew would deliver justice in the end

Sheriff Andy Taylor didn’t need a gun, as he, Barney, and Opie, brought us weekly adventures of Mayberry life, and Aunt Bee made sure the Taylor family behaved themselves!  In reality, we viewers oftentimes failed as we struggled with our deadly serious real life problems, but, we were always happy to see the Mayberry, RFD residents solve their problems with happy and moral endings.

So, what happened? What in the world is the difference between now, and back then??  I think maybe it’s that back then, we had a respect for morality that we’ve somehow lost today!  

I think we had a sincere respect for moral behavior, even when we behaved immorally. 

Thank you Marshall Dillon, and Sheriff Taylor!