(A helicopter drops buckets of water on a grass fire that broke out in the East Bay Hills in Oakland, Calif., Thursday, June 12, 2008. Photo by Alison Yin for The Oakland Tribune.)
I woke up this evening to an e-mail from Kat in Berkeley reading "Maggie, the Oakland Hills are on fire again. I'm really freaked out. No evacuations so far, and it doesn't look like it's moving as fast as in '91, but it's the same place (Hiller Highlands/Tunnel Road)."
I immediately searched for the story, and found it covered by the breaking news section of the San Jose Mercury, which stated:
"A brush fire broke out Thursday morning across 3 acres of steep hillside above Old Tunnel Road — eerily close to where the devastating 1991 Oakland Hills fire swept out of control — prompting a fast response from firefighters, who contained it in about one hour, and evoking fear among residents."
The article went on to comment "For the residents living on Charing Cross Road and surrounding streets, the wildfire was a terrifying reminder of the fire of 1991." Kat wasn't the only one.
The neighborhood where I lived in Oakland, moving away in 1989, escaped being leveled by the 1991 fire by only blocks. I went back on a visit shortly afterward, when tendrils of smoke could still be seen among the ashes, and toured the devastation with a former neighbor. I've written about the Oakland Firestorm before at this blog in my post Escape Fires.
To see some excellent footage of today's fire suppression, especially the physical effort involved in dealing with these extreme slopes, check out two videos from the Contra Costa Times:
Video Part One and Video Part Two
Last night I watched extended coverage of the flooding in Iowa and the Wisconsin Dells, as well as the devastating tornado who killed four boys at a leadership gathering for Boy Scouts. The same system destroying lives, homes, and crops in the Midwest has us here in Central Texas entering our 12th day of 100 degree heat and 23rd day of temperatures over 90 -- before summer even starts. We're already hurting for rain, as is huge swaths of the West.
We (human beings) have altered the weather patterns and balance for the entire globe.
I notice that no evangelical hatemonger has suggested that the people of Middle America have brought on the flooding and wrath of god by their insistence on liberty and human compassion. I guess some acts of god are not a toddler version of vengeance.
Scott McClellan was on Letterman last night, and by most who've reported on it, Dave conducted the best interview with him to date about the revelations in his book What Happened. The tone was set by Paul Schaffer leading the band in a rendition of "Turn, Turn, Turn" as Scotty walked on stage. You can watch the whole thing below, and should -- Scotty is opening windows and doors, however late.
Some of my favorite lines:
Dave (referring to Bush): "If I was doing the job he's doing, or that I think he's doing, I wouldn't go to work."
Scott (on Cheney): "He has a very dark view of the world, and he certainly believes some of the means justify the ends. And this President showed him way too much deference, I think, in terms of carrying out policies, whether it was detainee policies or energy policy, or policies relating to the war itself."
Dave: "My feeling about Cheney, and also Bush, but especially Cheney is that he just couldn't care less about Americans, and the same is true of George Bush. And all they really want to do is somehow kiss up to the oil people so they can get some great annuity when they're out of office (applause starts -- Dave counts out money as he continues) -- There you go, Dick, nice job, there's a couple of billion for your troubles. (Applause strengthens.) He pretty much put Halliburton in business, and the outsourcing of military resources to private mercenary groups and so forth. Is there any humanity in either of these guys?"
The bottom line is: Corporate values are not American values. The decisions about our environment, our food, our foreign policy, our military, our social services, our justice system, and all other rights which we accede to community control must be returned to elected government, not corporations. As Dave said, "We're screwed" until we do so.
Friday, June 13, 2008
OAKLAND FIRE CONTAINED IN TIME; MCCLELLAN'S ESCAPE FIRE SEEMS TO BE WORKING
Monday, June 9, 2008
THE COMMON NIGHTHAWK
(Nighthawks, by Edward Hopper, 1942)
In what feels like a lifetime ago, the mid to late 1990s, I used to attend weekly poetry open mics at Mojo's, Spider House, and occasionally other coffee houses in the University of Texas vicinity. Most of the readers were young, often young enough to be my children. A lot of them were lesbian or, as they called it, queer. I was still working on my voice then, both as a writer and as a performer of my poetry. A long, hard learning curve.
Most nights I drove home via Guadalupe, even though the first stretch of it is the University Drag, choked with traffic and jaywalking students. Once I got to MLK, though, it was a one-way easy stretch the rest of the way home. I wrote a poem about that route, once. It's at the end of this post. It got published somewhere along the way.
Some nights, however, I cut east and made my way around the State Capitol. I like seeing the bats and nighthawks circling the dome, visible mostly when they cross in front of a star or the moon. Did you know that our Capitol dome here in Texas is 15 feet taller than the one in Washington, DC? Yep. We did that on purpose. Everything bigger in Texas.
The common nighthawk is a bird which makes me glad I settled in Austin. I never was around them anywhere else. They seem to be here year-round, though in other places they migrate to South America for the winter. As a nightjar, they lay their eggs directly on the bare ground, no attempt made to build a nest. Their high peent fills the dark skies above Austin, especially above moontowers and mercury vapor lights which draw insects. As they close in on a flying insect who is desperately trying to outmaneuver them, often at the last instant the nighthawk will give its screech -- not from triumph or frustration, but to disorient the bug. It tends to work, causing a tiny jag in the insect's zoom, and the nighthawk heads 'em off at the pass.
If you'd like to hear their call, go to this page at E-Nature and click on "Listen".
I had to pass the by Texas Governor's Mansion to connect with Congress Avenue, my boulevard home. At that time I drove a Honda with a moonroof, and I'd make sure the roof was open when I reached the Mansion so I could scream at George W. Bush precisely what I thought of him -- wishing I was a nighthawk and he as he was, a dung beetle. He had contaminated the one-time residence of Ann Richards with his occupancy.
It never occurred to me, in my worst nightmares, that America could be stupid enough to elect him President. Well, to be exact, to allow him to steal the Presidency. Twice.
I earnestly hope the vast majority of people who voted for him are the ones now losing their homes and jobs. However, I doubt that's the case. The elite have escape hatches (Paraguay, anybody?), which includes our Senators and Representatives. Only a few of them admit their luck.
One of them is Congressman Robert Wexler. I got an e-mail from him today stating "I am pleased to announce to you that the House Judiciary Committee has met my public call for Scott McClellan's immediate testimony with action." Not only has the Committee issued an invitation to Scotty, he has accepted. Hoo-doggie.
The Governor's Mansion here burned two nights ago. They're saying it's arson. Fortunately, I am completely alibi'd by disability and poverty. They'll rebuild from the ashes, a job we're facing as a nation. Wouldn't it be funny if it was pudgy, pushed-around Scotty McClellan who struck the match?
Peent.
(Common Nighthawk -- Chordeiles minor, by Bob Hines, 1973)
GOING TO EARTH
We are riding three abreast
late-night same-speed companions
down 20 blocks of Guadalupe,
red lights in sequence
slowing us, each in our own gear,
then waving us on through.
I am red Honda,
motorcycle to left,
to right big car with window-filled dog
barking in different echoes off
brick buildings,
wooden houses,
disappearing a beat or two by the park
then bouncing back at the library
as if he were galloping along with us,
a central city Baskerville.
The moon is full over the Congress Street bridge.
Here is where I turn away
and choose my route back up the hill
to where I bunkered in six years ago
the month I let myself believe
she was really going to leave me.
I come out for picnics, movies,
meetings that stretch into gossiping about
whoever left early,
but I always go back alone,
sleep alone, get up and scrape together
faith in the clemency of another day
alone.
© Maggie Jochild; written 20 July 1997, just past midnight
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