I can’t be the only one who has noticed this disturbing set of occurrences but, if I am, consider this a sounding of the alarm. The Aliens are among us and they are taking over. I can tell this from the commercials on TV - more and more of the ads are in a language I do not understand. It sounds like English but contains words and references to things I know nothing about, things having to do with hand-held devices shown in the hands of smiling, very young people, communicating their alien desires to each other. Read more >> about Amblin’ Alameda: The Aliens Are Among Us
Morton Chalfy's blog
On Friday afternoon my sweetie and I attended a performance of “Love Stinks” at the Altarena Playhouse. This was the one and only performance of this work, done by the students of the two-week drama camp the Playhouse conducts several times a summer. Natasha, my sweetie’s granddaughter, was in the production and did us proud as did all the kids.
The show, I believe, was a pastiche of scenes and lines and skits drawn from a variety of sources and stitched together by the camp’s staff. Read more >> about Amblin’ Alameda: Civilized Pursuits
It is six long blocks from my house to Shoreline Drive, and on my morning’s walk I was struck by the isolation of the walking person in a landscape full of the automobile. For most of the six blocks I was the lone figure, striding along purposefully to be sure, but still dwarfed in power by the cars racing by me. I know from experience that lone walking figures are seen as “the other” by drivers and riders in cars and they wonder whether it is poverty or idiocy that has one walking when driving is so much more convenient. Read more >> about Amblin’ Alameda: Man Against Auto
I’m just back from the Gulf Coast of Florida and the grandchildren are wonderful, thanks for asking, film at 11. You have to see the one-year-old truckin’ along, pumping her arms and occasionally stopping to let out a squeal of pure glee at being able to motor on her own. That sound has definite rejuvenating properties and added at least a couple of years to my life. Read more >> about Amblin’ Alameda: What’s the Point?
It is the 800 pound gorilla in the room of my life, the fact that my main occupation nowadays, judged by time spent at it, is driving. Driving to the store for groceries, to the mall for various items, to friends, to restaurants, to doctors, to other doctors and to the pharmacist. This is the short list of destinations and anyone reading this can extend and embellish it to their heart’s content from their own experience. Read more >> about Amblin’ Alameda: Driving Miss Daisy Crazy
Alameda is tied to Oakland by four bridges and a tunnel. One bridge connects to Bay Farm Island and thence to the airport, three bridges cross the Estuary within a mile of each other at the eastern half of the Island (Park Street, Fruitvale and High Street) and the Posey Tube connects the West End to Oakland through Chinatown. Read more >> about Amblin’ Alameda: Posey Tube
“Pick me up at RAP at 5:15. No, 5:20.” Thus spake Sasha, my life partner’s only granddaughter. I had already learned that RAP did not refer to modern music or to the end of the school day or any of its other meanings. RAP (Recreation and Parks) is an after school activity with adult supervision. A thoroughly civilized way of handling those children whose parents work or are otherwise unable to be on parent duty at three when classes finish. The kids from Otis School and others are walked by guardians up High Street to the park and back into its recesses to the Activities Building. Read more >> about Amblin’ Alameda: RAP
Into each life a visit to the DMV must fall and so it did on us. We made an appointment at the office on Claremont Avenue in Oakland and set off in plenty of time to arrive early. And so we did, getting there ten minutes before the hour for an appointment ten minutes after. By doing so, we discovered, we ran afoul of a DMV rule that we couldn’t be checked in before the hour of our appointment had begun. Read more >> about Amblin’ Alameda: A Visit to the DMV