I finally got around to sorting through a box of old electronics in my garage. Maybe you have one too, a purgatory for devices that have been replaced by the latest and greatest but seem too valuable to throw away. There they wait, unloved and trussed up in their own cords, like a geek’s version of Toy Story 3.

“I should probably keep this as a backup,” we think, blowing dust off a chirpy phone cradle modem. The box is full of sounds going extinct. Aren’t you going to miss that Windows 95 startup sound? Or dialing that rotary phone?: Zzzzik! Cla cla cla cla cla cla. Wait, is that a dot matrix printer? Those things sounded like bees trying to sting a live microphone to death.

My box had about fifty pounds of recording hardware that has since been replaced by cheap computer software that weighs nothing. Beneath that was a jumble of obsolete cables, and then, at the bottom, encased in a patterned plastic designed to vaguely remind a mostly blind person of wood, was my first answering machine. From the ’80s.

Plus Letters to the Editor

I spent much of the Memorial Day Weekend writing about my Polish family and a clothing optional retreat I suddenly found myself trapped in recently. Maybe I should clarify that. My Polish family was not with me at the clothing optional retreat. Once you comsume dozens of pierogis together and go to midnight mass on Christmas Eve—and then scream at each other—there really isn’t any need to add nudity into the mix. How unholy—or unruly—would that be. No ... I’ve returned to the important task of writing a memoir. Two actually. One that will document my Polish family’s World War II history; the other about my various escapade searching for ridiculous—well, wildly fascinating—signs from the Universe. (And eating, of course.) All this got me thinking: How often do we allow ourselves to digest what is really happening in our lives—on a monthly basis; on a weekly basis, on a daily basis? Living is great.

We have two religious holidays this week – the Ascension (Catholic, Christ doesn’t leave the Earth, He enters Shamballa) and Shavuot (Jewish festival of First Fruits, of Ruth in Boaz’s field, giving of the Torah and Ten Commandments to Moses on Mt. Sinai, the Jewish people becoming a nation committed to serving God).

In the sky, Neptune retrogrades in Pisces, Jupiter enters Taurus, Chiron retrogrades in Pisces and Mercury enters Gemini. Mercury comes home again. A beautiful complexity of energies falling to Earth.

Neptune in Pisces creates social unrest that breaks down repressive structures, an awareness and response to the disenfranchised ad underprivileged, a polarization of good and bad, haves and have-nots, right and left.

Plus Letters to the Editor

Memorial Day Weekend is upon us and there’s fun to be had. At the top of the list: The Blues Festival.  We spotlighted the big bold fest in last week’s issue, but take note of more fodder.

Beyond that, Memorial Day marks the beginning of summer season, or, at least, an appetizer for it, so with that in mind, we roll out our annual Green Issue. You’ll find a bundle of tips and tidbits and other features to inspire you to be a better eco patriot. Interesting to note is the UC Santa Cruz Carbon Fund, a unique organization on campus whose work deserves mention.

It's not worth giving much thought to. She's nuts. That pretty much sums it up.

Russell Coppel

Santa Cruz | Book Man

As we prepare to celebrate this year’s Gay Pride, now the largest annual political gathering in Santa Cruz County, it’s hard to believe that the first marches in the mid-1970s required security to protect the gutsy few out Santa Cruzans who walked down Pacific Avenue.

It was a different time locally and nationally.  Locally in the late 1970s, the University enrollment was at just over 5,000, Downtown Santa Cruz was dead after six, the Miss California Pageant would still call Santa Cruz home for another few years, and the Board of Supervisors and City Council had conservative majorities.

American Idol: The Durb Watch