[Journal Menu]

[Home Page]


[100 Books]

[Other Sites]

Here In Oakland

Art & Life


August 7, 2016


Sunday. Yesterday was a bit more tired and scrambled than I was understanding when I got back from breakfast this morning and read yesterday's entry. Babble, babble. Shouldn't be all that shocking to me by now.

To bed and lights out by ten to awaken just after six, up and out the door to drive to breakfast on another overcast morning. Not much to mention other than the gas prices had dropped by six cents a gallon and I got back to edit and post the “babbling” entry before lying down and taking what turned out to be an hour's nap. Feel better for the nap.

Awoke without any thought to get up and so watched the eighth and last chapter of that Netflix series I've been following. Liked it well enough, but would have liked it more if the main character, a woman detective, hadn't been suffering from some weird psychological issue that makes you never sure, even as she herself is never sure, that she didn't commit one of the long line of murders in a weird can't be remembered blackout. Hard to relate to what you want to be a heroic character when she's not so sure and you're not so sure, she isn't part of the problem.

That's been in fashion now for some time: damaged detectives suffering from whatever physical/psychological/perpetrator disease who still manage to overcome all and catch the criminal without killing too many innocent civilians.

Another sign the story telling culture I grew up in has been retreating into memory now for some time, a culture that will start being recalled in old movies and rebroadcasts by public television stations (like old Noir movies at film fests). Interesting to see, though, the changes in “acceptable” entertainment. This damaged detective innovation, though, is one I'm having difficulty liking.

You're drifting.

And I'm too lazy to go back and do a needed rewrite.

Later. A walk over to the lake with a long lens on the camera to find it surrounded by people either walking the lake or lying on blankets on the grassy banks and in hammocks. More than a few people in hammocks. A nice day with light jacket temperatures. Found an egret along the shore, walked down to the bird sanctuary and took pictures of an unkempt looking Black-crowned Night Heron. At least I got some pictures.

A walk to Grand and by the 7-11 look-alike for an ice cream bar on the way home, the walk in the light jacket becoming a little too warm in direct sun. Tired, although the blood pressure has been fine. The vision focus a little off as it's often been a little off and so home to lie down again. No sleep, but nodding off. Obviously needed it.

Evening. Another slow day like previous days. Why do I endlessly write about them? Nothing on television other than the usual news programs. An early Elementary episode at six I'd seen before, but hadn't remembered its outcome. Nothing surprising there: not remembering the outcome.

I happened to start a movie on Netflix earlier this afternoon that I realized, after something like ten minutes, I'd probably rented and watched on a DVD from Netflix more than ten years ago, and couldn't remember the middle or the ending. Ah, well. Maybe I'll watch more of it, maybe I won't, but none the less instructive.

The photo up top was taken at Latham Square last Monday with a Nikon D5 mounted with a 24-70mm f 2.8 G Nikkor lens.