bi [sic] le

It was in March of 2004 that the miracle with Buster the Russian Tortoise happened — and I don’t use the term “miracle” lightly. That’s what it was: a miracle. Trust me. You can read all about it here if you’d like.

In a nutshell, while Susan and I were out and about running errands all over town the normally heights-wary and edge-aware Buster somehow fell 15-feet off of the balcony of the apartment I was living in at the time, and a whole big series of events transpired to deliver us back to the building at the exact same very moment that a neighborhood kid was walking away with Buster in his hands, who had not only survived the fall uninjured but then managed to make her way around from the back of the building to the side of the building to the street where the kid found her a few moments before we drove  up with me saying something like “Hey, that’s my tortoise!”

Seriously, give or take a few seconds earlier or later and Buster would’ve been gone and I’d literally be spending the rest of my days perplexed and dumbfounded wondering how she just vanished. It would’ve driven me crazy.

So like I said: MIRACLE.

Shortly after that I decided to rename Buster, whose moniker had been bestowed because the tortoise’s expression resembled Buster Keaton’s famous stoneface, and also because back in our first days together I was incorrect in thinking she was a he.

Her new name? Simple and entirely fitting: the Russian word for “miracle,” which I set out across the internest to find. But the only thing I learned was that it was much easier read than said. See, the trouble was back in that time, there wasn’t one single translation service I knew of that offered anglicized phonetic pronunciations of words in Russian. Seeing as that alphabet is entirely different from our own, I would type in:

miracle

and after selecting English-to-Russian, would get back:

Which is absolutely lovely, but didn’t do a whole lot of good for someone trying to find out how the word sounded.

I guess I could have called the nearest Russian consulate or language instructor, or posted an ad on Craigslist begging to be told how to speak the word, but I didn’t. Instead I gave up and Buster, who of course couldn’t have cared less what we called her, stayed Buster. Occasionally I’d get on the web and try to find the answer again, but always ran into the same dead end.

Until yesterday, when I learned that Google’s released a mobile translator app that spoke the words and phrases, only to be disappointed that it wasn’t available for the iPhone. Shaking my head I went to Google Translate and for the countless time entered “miracle” into the appropriate box. Then I selected the proper “from” and “to” languages and sure enough all I got was:

But wait a minute… what was that and where did it come from? Before my eyes was a “show romanization” text link and when I clicked it — wait for it… it was a miracle, Below the cyrillic version was how it sounded out:

So. FINALLY. After five years of occasionally wondering and ever-failing to find out how it is one pronounces my miracle tortoise’s long sought-after name, I’ve found it. It’s Chudo!

Kinda catchy!

Lacking content for an actual post, I’ll occasionally dive into the photo libraries and dredge up an image from the past, such as this captivating if otherwise unknown species of flying — presumably sting-capable — insect who was pretty protective of its sandy spot midway up Eureka Dunes in Death Valley, during the first time Susan and I visited there in November of 2005.

We’ll be in Death Valley next month, and while Eureka Dunes isn’t on the itinerary this time around, we’re looking forward to a demonstration of the park’s wildflower prowess, thanks to some above-average rainfall this winter.

It’s been awhile since I had a stray animal encounter as intense and involved as this one — the last being the relatively desperate one with Acorn the Jindo by the Galen Center at USC back in July of last year. That one had a far more satisfying ending than this morning’s, but this one takes the prize for uniqueness when you consider that a fellow concerned citizen who stopped to help the poor runaway dog and introduced herself as Melanie with the Animal Services turned out to be Melanie Ramsayer, the President of the L.A. Animal Services Commission.

So without further adieu, here’s the 12 minutes of me and eventually Melanie the most awesome city commissioner (and even a parking enforcement officer at one point) doing our damnedest to corral this uncatchable critter — who we think hope and pray actually made it back home.

Notes: Just after the one-minute mark when the dog charges into busy Olympic Boulevard about a block east of La Brea, you’re going to see me just look straight up into the sky. I did that not only because I couldn’t bear to look at what I fully expected to come, but also for another reason. Though I’m not one to trouble god with things that are probably pretty trivial as far as he’s concerned, I troubled him about that dog’s life right then and hard and as directly as I could. You can argue whether my prayer was answered, but that little dog made it across unscathed.

Other notes: You’ll hear me call the dog “Charlie” throughout the chase. I did this because he seemed to react to it when I randomly called him by the name.

The Saga Of The Stray Dog And The LA Animal Services Commissioner from Will Campbell on Vimeo.

Mainly this was an impromptu test of my nonvideo-capable iPhone 3G’s UStream video app that I’ve had for awhile and never used, and with it I managed to capture our Pumpkin’s distinctively odd and adorably unique purr. He even seems to ask a question near the end:

I practically skidded to a stop when I heard them last night, because I’m the type of guy who while biking home in the darkness of Ballona Creek will do that kind of thing in order to listen to and appreciate the music of  the night as sung by some unseen frogs somewhere nearby.

They’re very early this year. Normally they don’t sound off until deep into spring. Perhaps they were drawn out so soon by the unseasonably rich weather of the last three days? Whatever the reason it was my treat to hear them and now yours, too.

I was much more uplifted by the first clip, featuring what I expect is a protective mama Cooper’s Hawk chasing off a nest-encroaching and substantially larger red-tailed hawk that I chanced upon this morning when on 4th Street and Rimpau I heard the telltale Cooper’s laughing call and was able to bring my digicam to bear just as the red-tail decided it was time to go and the Cooper’s hawk gave pursuit:

The second clip  from the lower resolution/quality of my sunglasses cam is a head-shaking compilation of today’s cyclist assbag: a redrunner executing back-to-back light jumps first on Venice Boulevard at Robertson and next at Bagley. Take note of all the extra work he had to do to get across Robertson — arriving on the other side just as the light turns green — an excellent* savings of several precious seconds. I’m a firm believer in not running reds, but if you’re gonna break the law then nut-up and own it. Don’t do all that silly fading in and out between bunny hops and dabs. You just look like lame.

Moving on. Having eliminated said lamer’s overly wrought and hard-fought headstart at Bagley I was then able to immortalize another example of his excellent* Right-U-Right (RUR) technique, wherein to clear the red on Venice he fades onto Bagley, executes what I suppose could qualify as the straightest u-turn ever, then goes right back onto Venice. This is why I hate cyclists:

* And by “excellent” I mean “What the fuck’s your hurry, jerk?”

A front-page story in today’s LA Times details the mysterious struggles brown pelicans up and down the coast are having to survive.

Yesterday, biking to work in the morning along Ballona Creek between Overland and Sepulveda I found heartbreaking proof of that:

I stood where I was looking for movement, but there was none. Had there been even the slightest sign it was still alive you know damn well I would’ve stopped the world and been over the fence and down that bank like a shot to do I don’t even know what to try and help the poor thing. Because that’s how I roll.

But there was nothing I could do for a creature so magnificent to watch course through the air and so sad to see it downed there.

My first bike commute of the new year and wouldn’t you know I encounter a poor lost little dog crossing busy Venice Boulevard beneath the 10 Freeway with no awareness of the dangers of the streets, who, despite my efforts and bag of food wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. Following it did even less good as the dog crossed back over to the south side of Venice almost getting hit by a car in the process. So heartbreaking.

On Christmas Day, heading back across the darkening Yosemite Valley to the Awahnee to get ready for the Bracebridge Dinner later that evening, through the mist I spied a pair of coyotes looking for supper about 400-yards out and on the move across a snow-covered meadow:

Let me strive to  forget my disappointments with the trivialities of man — poorly appointed hotel rooms and pompously pretentious dinners — and instead remember and revel in these privileged and priceless moments witnessing the magnificence of nature.

Happy New Year!

Seeing as today’s bike commute would mark my 200th of the year, I didn’t let a little  morning rain dampen my desire to pedal to that milestone and to work (OK, it was more than a little; I was drenched by the time I got to Westchester).

Were I made of less water-tolerant stuff I would have driven, and in the course of doing so missed out on the chance to show a little love to a big bundle of bubbadawg just south of Ballona Creek..

Sporting a worn collar, but no tags I found him wandering seemingly aimlessly on Mesmer Avenue in the Mar Vista neighborhood (or maybe it’s Del Rey, hard to say). He seemed in good health, but not at all interested in being buddy-buddy. As you can see in the video below, he did however beeline it across the street to gobble up every bit of the stash of kibble I carry with me just in case of these meetings.

Hopefully his peeps are somewhere nearby within the surrounding residential area and they will be reunited. Hopefully.