L o b a B l a n c a {dot} c o m

I wish I spoke German a little better than I do…which is pretty much not at all. I can understand some things. I can say some things. I know my colors and body parts. I know how to ask for beer. I know how to say I don’t feel well and how to ask where the hospital is. I also know how to say I think you’re a pain in my ass. I also know how to sing along with Rammstein. You know, the important things.

So I was searching for pictures of Dr. Selar from Star Trek: The Next Generation (for a particular reason, which may or may not become more obvious here…depending on whether or not I can get my Shop-Fu skillz back in motion), and I came across this Facebook page of character sketches from what looks like a German release of the Star Trek: New Frontier book series. I wish I could understand all that’s been written without having to have the page translated. Am I really that lazy? This morning, yes.

I’ve never read any of the New Frontier books, but I have heard great things about it. I was so close to buying the first book recently. Then I saw who wrote it. Peter David.

I’m still angry with him for what he did to my captain. And I can carry a grudge for a Very. Long. Time.

Still, these might be what I need to fill the emptiness left by my still-lasting ban on new TNG books. A ban implemented because of Peter David. Hmm.

Anyway, my limited grasp of the German language aside, the character sketches included this portrait of Dr. Selar, who is a prominent character in the New Frontier universe. It’s lovely and made me smile, so I thought I would share it with you…because you’re all lovely and make me smile as well.

So a little while ago, I hinted around about unexpected travel that took me to the land of plentiful leis. It’s true, denizens. It’s so very true. Starting the second week in March, I’ve been in and out of the lair almost every other week. It’s not typically the nature of my particular job (contrary to those unexpected “spy” rumors that have sprung up recently…that’s not Loba, denizens…that’s that other Internet Personality^TM), but I do jump in when I am needed. Especially if being needed means getting to travel to places like Miami or Honolulu.

I ended up in both places in March, one by plan and one because of a very last minute call in which I needed to take over for someone on staff who had a family emergency. I found this out on a Friday morning; Sunday morning I was on a plane to Chicago to connect for a 9 1/2-hour flight to Hawaii. Longest flight I’ve been on thus far…long enough to read two books, develop a lasting hatred for my sprawling seat mate, and lose all feeling in my butt. Bonus!

I wish I had photos of Miami. I also wish I had more photos of Honolulu. However, the one thing that most people don’t realize when they hear that I’m jet-setting off to these places is that it’s not for fun. Even though the settings are gorgeous, that’s simply a secondary bonus. My sole focus while there is work, and that can often mean that I spend the bulk of my time sequestered in windowless sections of a hotel for the majority of my stay.

Poor, poor, pitiful me, right?

I did get the opportunity to go out and about in both places (I also got the same chance when I found myself sequestered at a hotel in downtown D.C. for a week as well…but I live here so that’s not too terribly exotic). I’ve been to Miami a few times before, so that was a nice revisit to some favorite local haunts. However, I was able to see enough of Honolulu to figure out that I definitely want to go back as soon as I can. I also know that I want to see other parts of Hawaii.

Honolulu is a very commercial area and a bit too touristy for my tastes. But it is beautiful. Plus every store you go into sells Kona coffee, which I confess I stocked up on while I was there. Okay, truth is I bought so much Kona coffee while I was there that my suitcase still smells like Starbuck’s underoos. And, yes, I know that was a vivid image…

Anyway, I promised you photos…and I always try to deliver on my promises. Here, then, are the few pictures that I was able to snap while in Honolulu. A couple are pulled from work shots that I took (“staff photographer” is one of many hats I get to wear when I’m onsite for conference detail). Most of them are of sunsets, since that was usually when my duties were over for the day.

This was the view from my balcony. Not a bad sight to wake up to every morning, eh?

And this little guy was one of the visitors who came to see me the evening I had a little time to eat dinner on the balcony. Anyone know what kind of bird this is?

Part of the Hawaii “experience” is a luau, which almost always includes a whole roasted pig. Snout, ears, and all…

(And if you must know, someone ate his ears and his snout before the evening was finished…)

What better way to wash down pig than beer? The cans are three brews from the Maui Brewing Company and the two bottles are brews from Kona Brewing Company. I’ve had experience with the latter brewery; their Longboard Lager and Pipeline Porter are two of my favorite recent discoveries. I hadn’t had their ale and the KoKo Brown brew was something I’ve never seen here on the “mainland” so I had to give both a go.

I’d also never heard of Maui before this trip, though, so when I found a six-pack sampler of three of their most popular brews (Bikini Blonde Lager, Big Swell IPA, and CoCoNut PorTer), I jumped at the chance to buy it. I’ll say simply that IPAs are not really my thing. Neither was the lager. Or the Kona ale. However, hands-down, the KoKo Brown and CoCoNut PorTer beers were simply amazing. Who knew that coconut beer could taste so great? Hawaiians, apparently…

As an FYI for those of you considering a trip to Hawaii, do yourself a favor and become very familiar with the chain over there called ABC Stores. They’re about as ubiquitous in Honolulu as 7-Elevens are here on the East Coast, and they sell practically everything you could possibly need. Case in point: I found all these beers as well as a bottle opener, bottled water, orange juice, cereal, yogurt, sliced fruit, a razor, and more things made with macadamia nuts than I ever knew existed. These stores are amazing.

And finally…the sunsets. I am sorry that I don’t have more photos to share with you…but I hope you enjoy the ones that I do have…

“I’m not going to lay down in words the lure of this place. Every great writer in the land, from Faulkner to Twain to Rice to Ford, has tried to do it and fallen short. It is impossible to capture the essence, tolerance, and spirit of south Louisiana in words and to try is to roll down a road of clichés, bouncing over beignets and beads and brass bands and it just is what it is.

It is home.”

—Chris Rose

New Orleans is a city haunted. Not by the Gothic vampires of Anne Rice’s devising, who slither through the shadows of a long forgotten (if ever existent) French Quarter. Not with the tall tales told by tour guides, who give tourists all the voodoo and mystery they suspect we seek.

These are the ghosts of decadence and impropriety, purged a million times over from the hearts of those who still teem to the Big Easy, looking for bliss in the bottom of shots of whatever is the cheapest path to total inebriation…clinging to strings of plastic beads, hoping to entice a slip of skin, a naked curve…pressing into the myriad packed bars, the surge and throb of music as inescapable as the heat and humidity that drips from the tips of your hair and makes grinding against a total stranger a slick, sticky encounter most likely forgotten by the time the diffused gray mist of morning light slips quietly down Bourbon Street.

Laissez les bons temps rouler.

These are the ghosts of sorrow and loss—the ghosts of miseries borne on shoulders that sink from ineffable sadness but still carry on. They haunt your thoughts as you walk the claustrophobic streets, the whisper of wrought iron slithering across edifices crumbled by time and tempest. They mingle with the tantalizing scents of Cajun and Creole cuisine that blessedly hold back the unpleasant undertones of Bourbon Street’s unseemly stench, rising from mysterious pools that slough down cracked and shifting sidewalks.

They come to you in visions of New Orleans under siege, under water.

Apres moi, le deluge.

You find yourself looking for the scars, wondering where the wounds were deepest. It’s a sick curiosity, but one that seeps in slowly, subconsciously: as you wipe away powdered sugar from your lips, the heat and grease of that last beignet still staining your fingertips; as you stroll Le Rue Royale, perusing galleries filled with local artistry that leaves you breathless from its beauty; as you slip from that last bar, the bitter tang of Sazerac expelled from your lips with each exhalation.

You remember the images. You remember the stories. The loss. The chaos and devastation. How could this city survive? How could it continue on?

New Orleans is a city haunted. But New Orleans is not a city dead.

Its life comes from its people. For many, to be from New Orleans means to be New Orleans. The Mississippi flows through their veins, strong as a chicory brew, and there is no home for them beyond this Crescent City.

Katrina may have displaced them briefly, but their migration home was as miraculous and meant to be as the swallows’ annual arrival at Capistrano. Some returned before the waters had finished receding. Some never left. All have sworn fealty.

New Orleans is a living, breathing entity. It wraps you in its history, its charms, its decadence. Its soul is Cajun hot and jazz blue, with a zing of zydeco on the side. If it seems weary at times, it’s because this is the city that never sleeps. It is constantly alive, constantly awake, constantly singing, dancing, drinking, swearing, loving, screaming, smoking, driving, pulsing, moving, rolling ever onward. Perpetual as the tides, unceasing as the universe itself.

As I previously mentioned, our drive along California Highway 1 was a little bit of a wash-out. The rain started early and streamed down unrelentingly for a good portion of our journey.

However, as we continued south toward Big Sur, the damask of drizzle finally shook free, and we saw the faintest line of orange break through the steely gray horizon, pushing its warm glow further and further outward each passing mile.

I pulled over a few times, trying to capture the sense of transcendent joy that overwhelmed us at the appearance of sunlight, even if only for the briefest of performances. Ironically, however, one of my favorite shots from these stops was one that shows no sign of sunshine at all:

There’s such a palpable undercurrent of desolation to this photo. Honestly, I keep expecting to catch a glimpse of plastic wrapping and Laura Palmer’s water-soaked curls just out of view behind one of those rocks.

Don’t cry, Andy. It’ll be all right.

Needless to say, this image greatly appeals to my darker sensibilities.

We continued a little further past this point, the sunshine strangely growing in intensity the further south we traveled, yet gloriously diffused by tendrils of mist that slipped along the mountainous crags with sultry ease.

Our final destination was Nepenthe, a restaurant that received convincing enough praise from the folks at Lonely Planet that I figured it would be a lovely end to a long drive. It was here that the sun made its final bid at breathtaking before dipping back to bed:

I do believe this might be what is known as “the money shot.” It’s certainly one of my favorite non-aquarium photos from the day.

As for Nepenthe, if you ever find yourself wandering the edges of California’s coast around Big Sur, you should definitely keep this place in mind. It’s a delightful stop, perched precariously above the water’s edge and providing views that were breathtaking even in the midst of misty gloom. Add to this a roaring fire at the heart of the dining area, cozy cushioned seating with pillows and candles galore, wonderfully bohemian wait staff, and simple yet simply delicious meals, it was indeed worth the drive.

Let’s revisit Loba’s San Francisco trip!

Okay, so Kirk and Spock didn’t actually go to the Monterey Bay Aquarium to find George and Gracie, the whales that would save humanity from that giant…cylinder of lead. They went to the “Sausalito Cetacean Institute,” a magical place right on the outskirts of San Francisco. (We went to Sausalito. There were no whales there. No nuclear wessels either. Groovy T-shirt shop though.)

And, yeah yeah, there weren’t any actual whales at the Monterey Bay Aquarium (other than the giant humpback whale sculpture suspended from the ceiling near the aquarium entrance). However, how could I not jump at the chance to visit the place where Spock swam with George and Gracie?

I do believe, in fact, that this was the tank into which Leonard Nimoy made his Vulcan plunge:

(Not that difficult a guess, really…this is pretty much the warp core of the aquarium. And, yes, I am going to milk this Trekkiness for as much as I can.)

So, yeah, Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home was in the back of my mind the entire time we were at the aquarium. It is, after all, one of my three favorites of the Star Trek movie franchise. On a really nostalgic day? It might actually be my favorite. After all, it was the first Trek movie I ever saw. We always have a special place in our hearts for our firsts, eh? Besides, it’s funny, silly, and utterly quotable. My favorite TOS character, Dr. McCoy, in fact delivered the lines that never fail to make me laugh out loud each time I hear them:

McCoy: My God, man. Do you want an acute case on your hands? This woman has immediate postprandial, upper-abdominal distention. Now, out of the way! Get out of the way!
[They enter the operating room]
Kirk: What did you say she has?
McCoy: Cramps.

Seriously, nails me every time. Wow, but I love DeForest Kelley.

But this isn’t about Star Trek (Really? Could have fooled us, Loba. Shut up.). This is about the Monterey Bay Aquarium. Yes, it’s a bit of a haul from San Francisco, but it’s totally worth the drive, especially if you choose to go there via California State Route 1. What a gorgeous stretch of road! I’ve wanted to drive along Highway 1 for years. My only regret is that it was utterly dismal weather the day we drove along this beautiful stretch of California coastline: dark, thunderous skies; torrential rainfall; and a constant, chilling wind.

However, none of this had much impact on the aquarium experience (although the poor little sea otters were stuck out in it all day). Here, then, are my favorite shots from the aquarium:

I wish I could have gotten some better shots of the sea otters, as they were the “stars” I most wanted to see. However, the murky skies and the steady rain played quite a downer of a role in setting up pretty shots. Plus, the sea otters seemed a bit off that day (gee, wonder why?). I’m just glad I got even these semi-salvageable shots. Yeah, it is blurry and a bit dark, but how cute is that pic of the sea otter snout zooming toward me?

That was the other thing that I learned while at the aquarium: I still have quite a bit to learn about taking photos with my Big Girl camera. While I confess that some of the blurring in these photos was intentional (I love the simulation of motion in photos sometimes), some of it was simply user error that worked to my advantage…sometimes. Those photos that don’t fall into the category of “sometimes” shall remain far, far away from the lair…

Thank you, TrekCore. I don’t know where or how you find these rare gems, but yet again, you’ve made me smile.

I’m trying to “keep calm and carry on” as the Anglophile in me thinks is best. My frame of mind at the present is a whirling dervish of unpredictability, with valleys of torrential self-pity…which I hate. What I hate even more is that I seem to be at a total loss regarding how to verbalize any of this. Or write about it either. My focus as of late has once again been reduced to Twitter-level: short, random, and most often pointless.

[Loba Tangent: I speak hypothetically, of course. Loba does not tweet. Although I get the sneaking suspicion that one of my Internet Personalities^TM does. I'm just not sure which one...yet.]

Anyway, this is why the lair has been a relative ghost town as of late. Minus my holiday investigation with Santa Sidle, of course.

[Loba Tangent 2: Did you know that, apparently, all I needed to do to give my visitor numbers a nice bump was to mention Sara Sidle? Who knew? I wonder what mentioning Jorja Fox will do to my stats. Gina Toscano? Maggie Doyle? Seriously, I'm a closeted stats whore, so I'll do whatever it takes to make my numbers soar. Heh. That rhymed.]

However, I wanted to bring you all something during this final countdown to the end of 2010…something more special than gold, frankincense, and myrrh combined. What could be better than that combination, you might ask? How about Wil Wheaton, the Golden Girls, and Dungeons & Dragons? Framed in bacon?

Yeah, it’s okay to be speechless right now. It’s also okay to be mesmerized. Go ahead, take your time and stare. I’ll wait.

…

It’s breathtaking, isn’t it? Even Wil Wheaton didn’t quite know what to call this masterpiece. His blog post on it was titled what is this i don’t even

I don’t even either, Wil. All I know is that when I start to feel sad, I open this image and the tsunami of awesome that crashes through my mind immediately sweeps the sad away. It’s a temporary palliative, true…but I’ll take temporary like this any day. With an extra side of bacon, please.

We heard you wanted to report a 459…burglary. What’s missing? Milk and cookies, you say? Oh, that’s all right. That was just ole St. Nick, making his annual rounds. Other than the milk and cookies, I bet he didn’t take anything, right? Bet he even left something behind…that’s his MO, you know. We’ve been processing his scenes for years.

We’ll go ahead and send over our best CSI (Christmas Scene Investigator, of course), Santa Sidle. She can be a little rough around the edges sometimes, but she gets the job done…

Yeah, this year I decided to give the sci-fi scions of my life a little break and go with another of my loves for my holiday card…CSI. I considered using Nick Stokes, since his name was the most appropriate for this particular holiday (St. Nicky)…but I had to go with my favorite: the dark, damaged, dentally diastemic one. Besides, if anyone needs a little holiday cheer in their lives, I think Sara Sidle comes at the top of that list. Plus, she wears that Santa hat well, no?

And, of course, I wish you all the merriest of holidays, whether you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or the Blessed Solstice. And I thank you. This has been a year of slippery slopes for me, but I have found solace and unexpected smiles from so many of you. I know I kid about having “ImagiFriends^TM,” but the truth is…you are my friends. I just haven’t met some of you IRL…yet. You have made my days brighter, my laughter stronger, and my mind filthier (you know which ones of you I’m talking about…).

Enough sentimentality. Break out the rum and let’s get this investigation under way! I’ll be over here, helping to print the reindeer…

Colonel Kira guards my stash. All arguments are henceforth invalid.

(Oh, and ImagiFriends^TM inspire the silliness in me. One of many reasons why I love them so…)

The anachronistic fustercluckery of this cover delights and disturbs me in equal measure. Ro Laren in a dress that looks like a reject from a Smut Trek bodice ripper romance? Running from…what? A Jawa with a raging case of gigantism and osteoporosis? And she’s holding a Cardassian phaser? In her left hand?

[Loba Tangent: Yes, I do notice things like this...I'm left-handed, so I almost always register when someone is similarly dexterous. Ro Laren, however, was not a southpaw. Neither was Admiral Cain or Maryann Forrester. Michelle Forbes, however...also isn't left-handed. Just so you know.]

It’s all too much. And yet not even close to being enough. I want need to know what this comic is about. Although in my mind, I’ve decided that this is a really bad first date, and that look of murderous intent in Ro’s eyes is either: A) Because she’s now on her way to assassinate the creator of IntergalacticHarmony.com for completely botching her request for someone “dark and mysterious, with a sense of Old World adventure” or; B) Because she’s had enough of Tall, Dark, and Bony grabbing her…bustle.

Whatever is going on, I can’t stop laughing at this cover. Silly Star Trek comics, you just don’t care about continuity at all, do you?

If you find yourself needing to know more about this particular comic and my explanation just isn’t cutting it for you, then might I direct you to this electronic comic book collection, brought to you by Santa Timmy and his lovely worker elves at ThinkGeek. Consider it my gift to you at this festive Tribblemas…