notes and observations – Action Items

the unstoppable red baron

Matt McCormick — Thu, 22 May 2008 00:54:36 +0000

as ‘relaxing’ as ghost town hunting sounds, it really can be stressful. for one thing, most ghost towns aren’t really ghost towns, but 98% ghost town and 2% home for eccentrics, outlaws, meth heads, and crazy old men who want to know why you are snooping around taking pictures. the other reason, as exemplified in the above video, is that a lot of ghost towns are at the end of what are essentially ghost roads, and while my trusty war pony mini van has proven it’s tenacious unstoppableness time and time again, i still get worried that some day i am going to get stuck out in the middle of nowhere. i mean, in the video above, we are about 20 miles from the nearest town and on a road so skinny that we really couldn’t have turned around even if we wanted to. we were on bodie road right at the california / nevada boarder in search of an abandoned town called aurora. one hundred years ago there used to be the giant del monte mill right at the site where the road is washed out, but today there isn’t much left.
all of these ghost town roads are pretty much the same- they ever so slowly get worse, luring you further and further away from civilization, tempting you to go a little bit deeper until you get to the point where turning around becomes a moral dilemma. nobody wants to give up and be the one who turned around just before the prize was obtained. yet nobody wants to get stuck out in the desert and have to hike for two days to find a tow truck driver and explain to him that you really thought your mini-van would be able to make it over the pile of boulders in the washed out road. it really is stressful. so much so that after a day of ghost town hunting you feel like you need a massage and a vacation. but as they say, the journey is the destination, and every once in a while you get lucky:

the amargosa opera house

Matt McCormick — Wed, 21 May 2008 14:05:29 +0000

For years I’d been hearing about a crazy little opera house out in Death Valley. Friends at the Center for Land Use Interpretation or other nomadic road-trip-loving pals several times over told me about an eccentric old lady named Marta Beckett who started a theatre out in the desert in the 1960s and has been performing one-woman shows ever since. It definitely sounded like my sort of place, but for one reason or another I was never able to get down there. The opera shuts down in the summers due to the heat, and being that Marta is now in her late 80s I knew it was foolish to assume I could put it off for yet another season, so last week Megan and I loaded up the ol’ Red Baron and headed down for the final show of the 2007-08 season.
In 1967, Marta Beckett, a dancer and performer from New York, stumbled into the rundown Amargosa Hotel while getting a flat tire fixed at a nearby service station in the tiny town of Death Valley Junction . Death Valley Junction was nearly a ghost town: it was originally built as a company town by the Pacific Coast Borax Company in 1923, only to be abandoned sometime in the mid 1930s. The town was built to house and service employees and operations at a nearby mine, but when mining operations slowed down the town was left to rot.

Exploring the town while the tire was being repaired, Marta found the shell of a building that had previously been used as a meeting and events hall. She was able to peer into the structure through a gap in the boarded up windows and could see that it had a stage and rows of benches laid out like a theatre. According to legend, that is when she decided to move in. She located the town manager, began renting the rundown hall for $45 a month, and started the long trek of creating the Amargosa Opera House.
The story of Marta Beckett and the Amargosa Opera House is a fascinating one. Combining the best traits of both an eccentric visionary and a kooky folk artist, Marta seems to have found her calling while making a legend of herself. For over 40 years she has presented one-woman shows that she wrote, made costumes for, designed, and performed on a weekly basis. In addition to rehabbing the theatre she also painted elaborate murals on the walls of a 16th century audience; both as an ode to the history of theatre but also to make the nights when the attendance was low not seem so lonely. There is great information about Marta and the Opera on their website, plus I was able to find this very cheesy yet informative video clip THAT I DID NOT MAKE from a travel program:

The final show of the season was an anticipated one. A line wrapped around the building and the 122-seat theatre was easily packed. After suffering an injury from a fall earlier this year, Marta elected to continue the season’s performance schedule but changed the show to the “Sitting Down Show” in which she sat in a chair on stage and chronicled the history of the opera and the numerous show’s that she has presented over the past four decades. While getting the rundown of the performances was interesting, I was much more interested in hearing her talk about her own life and motivations. Involved in theatre and dance since her early childhood, it was clear that Marta had dreams and ambitions for the big-time, but perhaps started feeling worn out by the competitive wear and tear of trying to make it on Broadway. “The most rewarding things I have done in my life are the things that nobody asked me to do,” she said as she looked back. That, I thought, was a great thing to be reminded of.

We very nearly didn’t make it to the opera: as we were on the road and about half way to Death Valley, Meg got a call from her pregnant sister saying that she had gone into labor (a couple weeks earlier then expected) so we turned around and headed back to Oregon. Meg’s sister gave birth to a healthy baby boy a couple hours after we arrived, and once everything settled down with that Meg and I figured out that if we got in the car and drove pretty much non-stop back towards Death Valley we’d get to the opera just in time. We rushed down, arriving in Death Valley Junction less then an hour before curtains. After the performance, Marta sat in the audience to answer questions and sign autographs. We told her about our journey and Meg’s new nephew and Marta seemed genuinely touched; yet another little piece to go along with a long history of magic.

mobile storage facility (or) a really good packing job

Matt McCormick — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 20:59:33 +0000

walking by this empty, permit-only parking lot the other day, it was hard not to notice this amazingly well packed Buick…

i have to admit that it has been a long time since i have seen a vehicle so thoroughly loaded up. it almost seems as if this car is more of a storage unit then actual car.

i felt that this was pretty sketchy when i first saw it, but closer examination revealed that the car does indeed have a permit to park in the lot, so it must be totally legit.

*thanks to Jenn Keyser for the tip on this amazing find.

good and bad decisions

Matt McCormick — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 08:06:01 +0000

It’s amazing how hard it is to find pie in restaurants these days, but Coos Bay, being an old funky dock town, seemed as likely a place as any that you could walk into an old 24-hour diner, sit at the counter, and order a cup of coffee and piece of pie from a waitress with a big bouffant hair-do, a cigarette dangling from her lip and a pot of coffee dangling from her index finger. Her name would probably be Bev, and the pie would be unquestionably perfect.
I had read in the newspaper that a new shipwreck had been discovered on the Southern Oregon coast near Coos Bay, and being fascinated with all things left abandoned, and having a hankering for that slice of homemade pie, I decided I had no choice but to go down and find it. It didn’t take much to convince my pal Megan Scheminske to come along, and we loaded up Tess in the Red Baron and headed south.

A shipwreck is the physical manifestation of a bad decision. The decision to go right when you should have gone left, the decision to go forward instead of turning around. Or sometimes it’s just the result of bad luck; some important apparatus stops working, a particularly bad storm hits, or maybe things just don’t go right. Either way, the moment in which the ships crew realizes all is lost must be a heavy one. Crap, we really messed up.
After asking the clerk at a convenience store, the entire wait staff at a restaurant, and the owner of a motel where the shipwreck was located, we were somewhat able to piece enough information together to go find it. While everyone in Coos Bay is aware and excited about the newly discovered shipwreck, it’s on a pretty remote stretch of beach and it seems that very few have actually ventured out to see it.
The new shipwreck is actually an old shipwreck, dating back to 1944, which until just a few weeks ago had been completely covered by a sand dune. But after a winter of punishing storms, the sand dune was swept away by waves, and the old wreck was revealed. It was first discovered by a couple beachcombers, and since has attracted a bevy of maritime enthusiasts and lookie lous from up and down the coast. It took a few days, but amateur maritime historians where able to pinpoint the ship’s identity and determined that it was the George L. Olson, “a 223-foot-long wood-hulled schooner, launched on Jan. 22, 1917, from the W.F. Stone shipyards in Oakland, California” that ran aground and sank in June of 1944. The ship had been all over the world, but on it’s last journey it was attempting to haul a load of timber from Coos Bay to San Francisco.

The shipwreck is on a remote beach that is only accessible by hiking or dune-buggying. Since dune-buggying isn’t really either of our styles we decided to hike it, especially since the hike would take us past another noteworthy shipwreck in the New Carissa. The New Carissa, which was a big ocean freighter that ran aground in 1999, serves as example number one on the list of things not to do when a giant freighter runs aground. First, after the ship ran aground and started spewing bunker oil and diesel fuel into the water, state officials tried to pump the fuel off. When the waves and weather proved that task to be too difficult, the decision was made to burn the fuel off. Many thought that was a curious decision, but they went ahead and ignited the remaining fuel, only to find that instead of slowly burning off, the entire ship exploded into a giant fiery inferno. You’d think that after the famed 1970 whale detonation that state officials would have known better, but days later, when the flames finally receded, it could be noticed that the 640 foot ship had now blown into two pieces and was deeply embedded in the sand. Giant tugboats where called in to tow the ship pieces out to sea, but the lumbering hull wouldn’t budge. Then the navy came in and managed to pull the bow of the ship off the sand bar, but as soon as they let it go, it just drifted back to shore instead of sinking like they thought it would. The tugs pulled it out again, and this time a submarine torpedoed the hull and it finally sank. However, the navy tugs where never able to pull the stern of the ship off the sand bar, and to this day it remains sitting there, slowly rusting away. Apparently there is another attempt scheduled for this summer, I’ll be curious to see what they try this time.

I kind of wish they’d leave the ship there. Considering the original wreck, and the botched attempts to deal with it, the heap that is the New Carissa is essentially a monument to failure and bad decision-making. In fact, instead of removing it they should install a giant marker on the beach that just says FAILURE in really big letters, and maybe some poetic words about remembering all the times we have just totally fucked up.
The hike was an 8 mile round trip journey that left me sore for days. Something about walking in sand seems to get the attention of the most disused muscles in my body. By the time we got back to the car it was obvious that it was time for phase two of our trip to go into effect: find pie. I am not going to lie; I have been on a banana cream pie kick for the past couple of months. There is just something about going into some old funky diner and ordering a cup of coffee and a fat slice of homemade pie. It’s not just a desert, it’s an adventure. And sure enough, we found a place right on Route 101, the Main Street Diner that advertised AWARD WINNING PIES on their decorative neon sign. Our waitress may not have been named Bev, but man was the pie good. Definitely a CORRECT decision.

things are looking better

Matt McCormick — Tue, 05 Feb 2008 07:59:40 +0000

Lampreys!!!

Matt McCormick — Tue, 05 Feb 2008 07:42:21 +0000

lampreys from matt mccormick
these are swimming in the columbia and willamette rivers!!!

when giant floods aren’t selling as well as they used to, that when it’s time for a:

Matt McCormick — Tue, 22 Jan 2008 07:51:46 +0000

world’s largest egg (updated)

Matt McCormick — Sat, 19 Jan 2008 01:39:42 +0000

updated detail for VALDEZ (see comments)

live blogging new year’s eve is not that cool

Matt McCormick — Tue, 01 Jan 2008 09:13:49 +0000

it’s new year’s eve, about 45 minutes left in 2007. I should probably be at a party or something, trying to navigate my way towards some cute girl who might want to make-out with me at the stroke of midnight, but tonight that just seems overwhelmingly impossible. a weird year capped by a weird month capped by a weird day makes the possibilities of tonight seem completely un-navigable. sometimes I think it’s better to just dig a hole and cuddle up with a sad song pouring out of the record player. lately it’s been Scout Niblett’s song “Kiss”, which just kills me. willfully. a good song and a bottle of whiskey can get you through anything.
New Year’s is a holiday that can be very stressful. I suppose all holidays can be, as they give such clear expectations of what you should be doing if you are doing it right. Whether it’s having good times with loved ones on Thanksgiving, doing romantic things with your lover on Valentine’s, or having a great costume on Halloween, holidays make it very clear what you should be doing if you are normal/successful/happy. But with New Year’s it’s a bit of a mix; there is the idea of ushering a new year- a rebirth of sorts, complete with goals and resolutions and Auld Lang Syne, which is stressful alone. But then there is the whole kiss at midnight thing. When you are single and alone, the stroke of midnight on New Year’s takes lonely and multiplies it by a million.
every year about this time I try to come up with some personal slogan for the new year. sort of like a new year’s resolution, but more of a theme instead of an ambitious to-do list. themes of year’s past have included the year to live dangerously, the year to grab the spotlight, the year to keep it real on the lower levels, and the year to get it back, to name a few.
this was supposed to be the YEAR OF HUGE PROJECTS, but really just turned out to be a year of a couple mid-sized projects and a HUGE list of rejections. the projects never really materialized and things aren’t all that further along then they were 12 months ago. I have a healthy list of excuses as to why that’s the case, but really I know that I could have worked so much harder then I did. and I think I have been thinking this to myself since about the fourth grade- for as long as I remember being able to analyze my work, life, and results. I could have done better in school had I worked harder. I could have been better at sports had I practiced harder. I could be a much more successful artist if I spent less time on the internet and more time working, but I always had some convenient excuse as to why. even right this very second I feel a great urge to check my email, look at people’s myspace pages, or read about tonight’s Blazers game on the web.
now there is only 20 minutes left in 2007. I was hoping my cell phone would have come through in heroic fashion by now; vibrating with a message of hope that somehow solved everything; like sunshine finding a part in the clouds on a rainy day. reflecting light off the puddles, and turning the world into a disco ball. I wish the whiskey would work that good.
in addition to coming up with a theme for each new year, I also try to re-dub the ending year’s theme. 2006 was supposed to be “the year of the non-stop party wagon” (which was inspired by my pal Al Burian) and was meant as a way to basically say ‘yes’ to everything. I was realizing that I was a bit of a control freak, and thought my life would become richer if I started ‘going with the flow’ a little more. Things actually got off to a great start that year, and I felt I had reached a new level of personal efficiency and self-motivation, but then my flow got derailed by a difficult break-up which left me reeling for awhile (well, still…) and hence the year was redubbed ‘the year I learned what heartbreak really felt like’
so, sadly I think that 2007 is going to get the unfortunate dub ‘the year of mediocre results.’ it’s not that it was a bad year, I feel very fortunate to have been able to do all the things I did, and I had some wonderful adventures and great times with good friends. I probably could call it the year of rejection, but that just seems like asking for trouble as I am sure I really could be rejected much, much more then I was. but i pretty much struck out on every grant application, film festival submission, studio visit, workshop, and just about everything else i tried for. my pile of rejection letters this year is strong. (at what point in your life can you reveal the fact that things are difficult. goals and ideals you set for yourself just don’t come into view, while the mere act of surviving proves to be so much more difficult then you ever imagined.)
it’s three minutes before midnight. it’s hard not to wonder who will be kissing who. I suppose it’s too late to be checking my email with any hopes of real results. luckily there is still some beer left in the fridge, even if it is my roommate’s. I can hear fireworks.
2008: “don’t break my dream”

live seafoods are famous…

Matt McCormick — Fri, 28 Dec 2007 23:47:26 +0000

i really can’t make an argument against this statement.