Sputterpub's Blog

The creature most interesting to a dog is another dog. The being most interesting to a child is another child. The people most interesting to people are other people.

Our favorite disability is blindness, because we think we can stare at the blind without them knowing it.

Kids love to spy on adults. They’d spy on kids but the other kids are on to them.

The sweet thing about walking is that you get to be a fly on the wall; you witness what others won’t. The drivers don’t see you – stop wasting your time on dayglo vests and street markings and instead attend to what the car operators are doing (that’s why we want brake light indicators on the fronts of cars).

People-watching and eavesdropping are public forms of entertainment. They are easily enjoyed at airports and on sidewalks in pedestrian-friendly neighborhoods, in buses and on trains. Those venues offer more interesting fare than shopping malls and concert halls and amusement parks but these places aren’t bad either.

I used to scoff when I heard of a writer who got a story idea from listening to the kids talk in the back seat of her van, while she ferried them to afterschool activities. I thought, “That’s almost a waste of time, compared to what you can overhear teenagers discussing in the Elmwood, or city kids doing on the 1 California bus.” But the fact is, you find news or gossip items where you happen to be, and the trick is to pay close and clear attention.

When you look at the development of the novel, you’ll see that the form is all about gossip, spying, and eavesdropping. A good novel is an opportunity to take that comfortable perch on the wall, and watch other people live.

It seems to me, but this is just my opinion, that it’s a better use of my time to go outside and watch and listen and try to record what I witness, than to screen reality shows or read tabloids.

Of course I’m naturally conservative. Most people are. That doesn’t mean we’re Republicans. It means we resist change, at least a bit, at least at first.

People are almost as ready as dogs to make a tradition. Do something once and it’s new, twice and it’s familiar, three times and it’s a regular activity becoming a ritual. We can be impulsive, we enjoy novelty, and many of us savor responsible destruction, but most people most of the time want stores, landscapes, and loved ones to remain as they were.

I’m not just conservative; I’m a conservationist. I want the good things preserved, or at least not wasted. I think the national park system is in general a benefit. I’m absolutely glad that Yellowstone has been set aside for all of us to experience. I treasure Yosemite. I even love little-used Lassen.

But I’m not sure Lassen needed preservation. And I have complaints about what has become of the Marin headlands and Death Valley, in the name of good.

I stomped around the headlands in the late 1960s. It was a playground for some of us high school students: foggy and mysterious at night, wild and solitary during the day. We explored bunkers and emplacements. We learned to run sideways down the steep grass-covered slopes to the pebbled cold beaches. We conquered the bike hill to the bridge.

We didn’t experience any crowding. We never minded waiting for the one-way tunnel. To this day I don’t understand why it had to become National Recreation Area, and consequently beautified, publicized, regulated. I fear this was part of a “if some is good then more must be better” example of political will.

I think a similar process regulated Death Valley. The area is awesomely desolate, deep, and privy to celestial music. As late as the 1990s you could enter the landmark during springtime in an unairconditioned truck, and as long as you had a supply of wood and water you were set. You could camp just about anywhere provided you toileted far enough away from roads and others. Easter time is the height of the season; the desert is in bloom and the weather is not yet insufferable. Yet I was there several springtimes, and there was no traffic. So I’ll always wonder why National Park “protection” was necessary.

All it seemed to bring were restrictions on camping and traveling with animals. As soon as it became a National Park, Death Valley went on the required list for sticker- or magnet-collecting families. My last trip there, the only visit after the place got protected, required a camping permit and confined us to a small space on asphalt, amid a little crowd of RVs.