It is sometimes easy to lose perspective of the age of our state. Museums, State Historic Parks and Missions and so forth are designed to help with this. But as I’ve mentioned here, often it can be a challenge to remove oneself from the distraction of the exhibit and actually envision what life or existence may have been like for those living in California long ago. Another problem is that often prominent time periods or specific events such as the Gold Rush or the 1906 Earthquake can lead to a telling and re-telling of the same narrative, one which presents more of a swashbuckling storybook saga than a clear, contextual understanding of what living as a regular person at a particular time was like. You miss out on the everyday.

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A regular ferry operated by a regular person, north of Red Bluff, ca. 1910. Meriam Collection, CSU Chico.

Our immersion in the time period, so to speak, can be clouded by what we know today about events which occurred long after historical figures came and went, as though they knew what was to come, like actors in a scripted movie.

But it wasn’t like that at all.

Early settlers came to California in search of new, better lives, without the screenplay of success in California that would be soon realized. Some settlers led modest existences and paved the way for their offspring to live in the the same or better ways than themselves. Some came to California and lost everything. Some simply expired from new diseases, or skirmishes with Indians. Some, however, like settler William B. Ide, would wind up trailblazers, and end up creating intractably enduring symbols of our state’s history and culture. I like the story of Ide because there is no fancy quote, newspaper headline, or religious manifesto he is associated with; he simply springs out of the typical emigrant settler existence from the periphery of a sleepy part of the northern Central Valley. It’s time we took a trip to El Rancho de la Barranca Colorado, "Red Bluffs," and our latest installment in the ongoing 58-part series, Your California: Tehama County.

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It has been a tough year for many Bear fans, myself included.  I am sure you are aware of the fanbase's acrimonious response to last Saturday's extraordinarily disappointing loss to what was perceived as a very weak Bruin team.  Many immediately have sought shelter in scapegoating our head coach, with the knee-jerk response of "Fire Tedford," assuming that firing a head coach will instantaneously solve the team's problems in the same way that a manager of Starbucks might turn his store around by firing a bad barista.  I think hiring and firing coaches does not work this way.

Moreover, given the dozens of inputs and outputs, vagaries, and plain luck involved in winning a football game, I've always found it curious that a fanbase immediately gravitates towards firing the person with singularly the most knowledge of the football program than anyone else.  To me, it would be like finding out a dear friend of mine is sick and in the hospital and immediately calling out "FIRE THE DOCTOR!"  It seems silly to me.

The last football game aside, looking at the last ten years of Cal athletics, I find myself astonished at the overall success of the entire program, largely under your tenure, in many of our NCAA sports.  Normally this would be accomplishment in and of itself, but in the context of the incredibly challenging climate for simply running a 27-sport athletic department at a public university in the state of California, the final result is truly mind boggling. Volleyball continues to rise, women's basketball had several fantastic seasons, men's basketball won their first championship in decades, swimming and diving continues to spit out olympic-caliber athletes like a Pez dispenser.  Even Cal baseball, so close to termination, defied all odds by qualifying for the college world series.

Against a backdrop of unprecedented and debilitating budget cuts, massive campus-wide construction, the tree-sitter horror-dramedy, and the funding and construction of the SAHPC as well as new Memorial Stadium, the aforementioned accomplishments only seem that much more impressive and a testament to the program-wide skill of our coaches and, especially, our student athletes.

Given this, I just want to say that as long as I live within driving distance of Berkeley I will be at all the home football games (as I have been since I was a student starting in '03), yelling for our Golden Bears, and frankly I don't care who our coach is.  I fully support you and your past, present, and future leadership of our athletic department.  Thank you for your tremendous work.

-Spazzimus Desidus Aurelius McGee III

note: this post is the conspiratorial, pro-regime opinion solely held by Spazzy McGee and does not necessarily reflect the official position of California Golden Blogs and its moderators and posters.  For information about further conspiracy theories and the malcontents who propagate them, please visit http://www.bearinsider.com/forums.

With apologies to Pawn Stars, of all the Western states, my least favorite is Nevada. Maybe it's because most of the state is barren desert. Maybe it's the monotony of I-80 past Reno until forever. Maybe it's the heat, my god, the heat. But either way it's hard to find ways it compares favorably to its neighbors...unless you live in Woodfords, Poole, or Markleeville, California. When someone from either of these towns needs to see a dentist, they head to Nevada. When they turn on their car radio, they hear stations out of Reno and Sparks. Jonesin for a Big Mac? Nearest McDonalds is in Minden, Nevada.

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I did take this picture, but not at the same time as the rest of the pictures below.  Sue me.  Actually don't, I'll probably lose. 

Between October and May, to the residents of the bulk of Alpine County, most of California is accessible only by icy roads and long detours around highways 108 and 4, on highway 89 and 50. I suppose they could brave the 8 hour drive down US 395 to LA, but I'm pretty sure nobody really wants to go there either. Anyway, after a marathon (literally) CoHP trip the day before in Yosemite, I wanted an easier trip the subsequent day. Sonora peak is a relatively short but steep walk that would fit this bill. Which is how I found myself at the highpoint of yet another California CoHP, in the newest installation of Your California: Alpine County.

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1876- Post Office was established in Arbuckle with Tacitus R. Arbuckle as Postmaster.

Another early wakeup was in store for today.  I was driving toward Eugene and Seattle along I-5, which shoots due north through the increasingly narrow Sacramento Valley.  Passing the tiny towns of College City, Arbuckle, and Grimes (or Grimey as the locals liked it to be called), the Tahoe region could be seen in the sunrise to the east, 6am just gone.  But to the west, the nondescript coast ranges pass by, increasing slowly in elevation as to the north, on the way to the dual highpoint of Colusa and Lake Counties.  Clear Lake is the highlight of Lake County, along with active geothermal areas used for generating power, The Sacramento River makes lower Colusa County a fertile farmland, where longstanding riparian area water rights (and water subsidies) make rice a very profitable crop.

            But farm issues were not my main concern for the day.  That would be Snow Mountain, a prominent, often passed but little-visited mountain, hidden, one might say, in plain view, on the fifth installment of Your California: Colusa and Lake Counties.        

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*grzzz.  Grzzzzzzzz.  GRZZZZZZZZZZZ* it was 4:30am and my phone alarm, set to vibrate, was buzzing atop some spare change on the small table next to my foldout couch.  I had it set thus, because the noise it produces makes me want to eat my own ears.  At the very least, it forces me to get up and turn it off.  I sat blearily on my bed, eyes crackly with sleep and a hangover, debating whether I could summon the strength to heave myself into action or collapse back onto the mattress.  I actually had a pool party to attend later that morning, and I could really use the sleep.  But when would I be this far south in California again?  The decision was made.  

I had two hundred miles to drive, six miles to hike, and 6 hours to do it in.  The key was soon in the ignition, and I was off, heading east into the sunrise over the parched, dusty big toe of Your California: Imperial County.

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...for highlighting what a truly awesome place CGB has turned out to be.  Thanks Avinash, CBKWit, Hydro, Rags, Twist, Fever, Berkelium, Danzig, and everyone else for making this a great place for an open, fun, lighthearted, argument-filled, hilarious way to discuss Cal sports.  It makes the workdays go quickly, makes me question my assumptions about football and I have learned more about the game from CGB than I could read in any other source.

I'm glad you all value free speech and contrasting viewpoints as much as you do, because we've all seen what the opposite is like.  Thank fuck I chose Cal. 

Thanks again guys!

GO BEARS.

Tuesday, 7/28, at 10:30am Jon Okanes will have a Livechat with Cal head coach Jeff Tedford.  As with the Jahvid Best livechat, let's aim to flood JO with as many excellent questions as possible.  Personally, I would focus on questions outside the norm: there are sure to be plenty of average questions from other folks.

Post your questions for Jeff Tedford in this thread and, please, rec the best ones. We'll compile the best ones to ask right before the chat goes live.  

Junipero (Spanish for "Juniper") Serra was an extraordinarily religious figure originally born in Spain in the 1700s.  Having moved to Mexico to teach, he was charged with leading the formation of religious missions in Alta California (Spanish for "Alt California.")  Having made his way first to San Diego (which is Spanish for--never mind) to found a mission, Serra slowly traveled up the California coast, eventually settling in what is now modern day Monterey.  Close by, he started mission Carmel where he remained stationed as one of the more awesome titles in historical figurity, "Father Presidente" to the California Missions.

But Monterey County's history is not all sleepy and religious.  A presidio was established just to the north to protect the coastline, but apparently it wasn't a very good presidio, because a pirate named Hypolito Bouchard completely tomfooled the shoreline Spanish garrisons by employing a new, cunning technique: attacking at night.  Well, not really, he merely sailed his ship close to the shore at night: so close, in fact, that the cannons which the Spanish had cemented in place at 90 degree angles could not fire on his ship.  So Bouchard mercilessly fired on shoreline Spanish homes with his Adjustable Cannons until the occupants fled, raided the homes, stole everything, burned them to the ground, and blew up the Spanish cannons too, just for snorts and jollies.  No, I don't mean he fired off celebratory rounds, he literally blew up the cannon barrels by burying them halfway in the ground and THEN firing them.  A lifetime supply of Badass Fuck Yes Points were earned by Bouchard that day, after which he sailed south and never returned.

Speaking of fires, some of you readers may recall from the news that in 2008 Big Sur was nearly engulfed by a massive series of wildfires burning nearby.  Unbeknownst to me, these fires engulfed a good measure of the area I would be traveling through, as well.  Which brings us to Junipero Serra Peak in the fourth installment of Your California: Monterey County

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It was a Sunday, and I was bored out of my mind, with a subtle hint of apricot.  I had woken up with notes of cinnamon, much too late to do the 16 miles required for Discovery Peak in Alameda County.  I ate lunch and found it to be about 1.  The scent of bark and mushrooms permeated the 75 degree, sunny day as high clouds and light breezes wasted on by. Ridiculous.

Something in my laze-encrusted brain told me to get the fuck up and go somewhere or life might not be worth living, with a nice cheese assortment.  My first option was Mt. Vaca, highpoint of Solano County with tones of peppermint, but you can drive to within a half mile of the summit.  Weak. 

Or I could opt Mt. Saint Helena, a light, dry summit located above the Alexander Valley, just north of the Bay.  That’s right, in this, the 3rd installment of Your California, we get road rage at the wine tasting crowd in the very heartland of self-aggrandizing douchebaggery: Napa County.

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Here we see a Self-Aggrandizing Douchebag in his native habitat, in full summer self-aggrandizing mating plumage.  The correct protocol to follow if you see one in the wild is to approach it slowly, say something like " '96 Chardonnays sure were oblique, weren't they?" and then commence with swift, repeated kicks to the testicles. 

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White Mountain Peak sits atop (get outta here) the White Mountains, the highest and westernmost of the Great Basin ranges.  It requires a left turn at The Boonies, a right turn once you reach Nowhere, then another left when you reach The Middle.  To get to the trailhead, you have to cross-and I am only partially joking-the moon, and ascend a to a breath-stealing height of close to 12000 feet, higher than the large majority of the actual county highpoints. 

It is in the rainshadow of the Sierras, so it is very dry.  It is high elevation, so there is not much oxygen.  And since it is nowhere near the tempering breezes of the Pacific Ocean, it is also cold.  There is also lava, and dinosaurs, and locusts, and ...and... welcome, welcome indeed to the highpoint of Mono County, the second entry in the 55-part county highpoint series: Your California.

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We like California. 

We either grew up here, or went to school here, or for whatever reason, think it's a pretty cool state and place to be (JShufelt can go cry and drink his rain-infused pee Oregonian beer).  But aside from rather opaque terms like "Norcal" and "Socal" and "Tahoe," very few Berkeley students I know seem to have much of a sense of place when it comes to California.  Mike Mohamed's hometown is Brawley, CA.  Off the top of your head can you tell me anything about Brawley, other than that it sounds like a good place to walk into a saloon and punch people for no reason?  When you're driving south on 5 and you look west from Kettleman City, do you wonder what is beyond those hills?  Are there In n Outs out there, too? 

We all see references to California dozens of times a day in the news, on sweatshirts, on uniforms, but what is the place behind the word?  WHERE do we really live?  I decided to find out, county by county. 

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(But bonus points for Cal).

In bygone eras, athletics were defined by personal competition: one person or group striving to better another via physical strength and ability.  It was not until the turn of the 20th century until sports, organized or otherwise, took off in popularity among the general public.  Furthermore, as time passed, sports and the spectacle of athletics became ever more present in the everyday lives of regular people, where we find ourselves today.  Athletics are a multi-billion dollar industry, in every country in every corner of the world. Multiple media networks exist solely to provide sports-related information.

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Didn't that guy get a Web Gem last night?

How did the simple concept of physical competition get this far?  My theory is: the advent of media imagery first made possible by photography at the beginning of the 20th century enabled people to connect with athletics far more than times prior.  Regular people could now live vicariously through their athlete heroes because they could see their struggle on a daily basis through photographs.  The sports fan could put themselves in the place of the athletes in the photographs, and seemingly form a bond with someone who "shared" that struggle. 

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Oh God my neck. 

But truly great sports photographs do more than show a physically gifted person on the field.  They tell a story about.  So, CGB, what is your favorite image from all sports?  Why?  What does the image tell you or make you think?  Has it affected your sports fandom?  Do you just like it because it looks cool?  Dig it up on Google images and post it...  (Also, don't feel like you have to have a long writeup or anything...just post!)

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What IS the lesson we should learn?

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I had fun, and the win was exciting, but I'll be honest: I would still rather have a trip to Vegas or San Diego. 

Here are my original seats, right next to the band on the left field bleachers.  I kind of shifted around until I was next to some guys who were pretty into the game: making noise on D, cheering etc.  Everyone_else in the section was stone-faced silent.  Unfortunately the real owners of those seats came so I had to move down a few rows and over, to sit with rest of the fans educated at the Milford Academy.

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Others have mentioned how close the end zone is to the fans.  Here is an illustration of that.  I seriously don't understand how this is legal; if a player were to go for a diving catch towards the back of the endzone, he would slam helmet-first into the wall, which is like 3 feet beyond the back of the endzone.

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"It IS metal!!"

This did result in some pretty sweet shots of the parachuters.

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This is also what a farting contest at the Friedgen home looks like. 

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Signore Tavecchio practices kicking the ball:

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Backup kicker Nick Demopolous practices kicking Bryan Anger:

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This is why you're the backup.

Can you imagine this scene while high?

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".........like....................................................whoa."

America's Favorite QB practices with Luxury Yacht.   They weren't actually throwing  or anything.  Boateng just likes holding the ball way up high like that.

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The team makes its way out.

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Coin toss.

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"For I, Admiral Macadamia, do preside over this, the coin toss of Antioch....."

Here's why my seats sucked.  I was so close to the goalpost and so low to the field, the crossbar obscured ~30 yards of depth on the field.  I either had to crouch down or stand up to see anything at all.

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Awesome drive summary.

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The seats were so crappy I eventually moved over to the student section.  I'll say this, though, the jumbotron is awesome.  Can the Phoenix Five pull together a plot to steal this next time?  Even the players had a better view of the game by watching the screen...

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Coach, can we switch over to ANTM?

Til next time...

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GO BEARS!

Written by the best single blogger the Cal community has ever known, Tightwad Hill.  I'll post the link and the text here.  Also, if you haven't had a chance, read his writeups on the 50 greatest Golden Bear football players and some of the top basketball players, too.  His writing and analysis was cogent, to the point, reasoned, and funny.  Tightwad Hill, you are missed!!!

Stanford Week

Many of the great rivalries are fundamentally class rivalries - the "big-city" university v the land grant agriculture college. This is what fuels Alabama/Auburn, or Oregon/OSU. Some are even about religion (BYU/Utah) or fashion (USC/UCLA).

Cal/Stanford is the only great rivalry that's fundamentally about ideology. And by ideology, we don't mean the traditional left-right distinction - Stanford's a good bit more conservative than Cal, but they're both squarely in God-hating commie territory.

No, the ideology at play here is authoritarianism. Cal teaches its own to question authority by imposing a faceless, soul-crushing bureaucracy upon its students. No classes? Tough shit. No housing? There's always co-ops. Want the personal touch? Try getting to know your 1200 classmates in Anthro 1. Four years at Berkeley feels like a Kafka novel - you come out with a perhaps too-healthy skepticism of professors, administrators, Presidents and the like.

Stanford is a school next to a mall and some golf courses that is populated by cheerful authority figures who want to like you. They serve as your counselor, and help you choose your classes. They arrange comfy dorm rooms, and social events with your fellow fascinating students drawn from all parts of the country. They want you to succeed, because you're one of them - the few, the proud, the elites. Isn't it grand?

You exit Stanford feeling really, really good about yourself. You exit Berkeley happy to have survived the experience. Berkeley is exhilirating; Stanford is pleasant. Both sets of alumni run the world, but only one group of alumni feels entitled to.

Leland Stanford didn't attend the university that bears his name. He simply founded it - with money stolen from the pockets of the good men and women of California, on the backs of Chinese immigrants that his railroad literally worked to death. Want to know why our State Capitol is in Sacramento? Because Leland Stanford's railroad was going to end there, and because he said so. The California built by Stanford and his fellow Robber Barons was, in essence, a kleptocracy benefiting the elites at the expense of the masses. After all - they deserved it.

The University of California, by contrast, was established by Governor Frederick Low in 1868 with the passage of the Organic Act. UC was designed on the University of Michigan model and sought to make higher education available to all residents of the state, regardless of their ability to pay.

Prominent Stanford alumni in the corporate world include Steve Ballmer, Phil Knight - uber-elites. Cal has Steve Wozniak, who did all the hard work at Apple and then retired to do philanthropy instead of press conferences, and the Haas family, noted for their pursuit of business ethics.

Cal has Alice Waters, Timothy Leary, Joan Didion - slightly kooky trailblazers in their respective fields. Stanford has Herbert Hoover, who couldn't be bothered with all that talk of a Great Depression, and Gray Davis, who never left his office to notice the State collapsing around him. Elites. Cal's Laura Tyson is famous for presiding over the great Clinton economic run of the 1990s as head of the CEA and NEC. Stanford's Condi Rice is famous for presiding over the collapse of the world.

Some may look on this as a false distinction between two privileged groups, but we disagree. The ideology that separates Cal and Stanford, Berkeley and Palo Alto, rugged individualism and elitist group-think is what brings the taste of bile to our lips every time we see that dancing tree.

It's not jealousy, it's resentment - and there's a difference. You see, we know those smug, snarky clowns in red and white are someday going to fuck up the entire world, and we're not happy about it.

posted by Tightwad @ 12:00 PM

After last year's fUCLA game, I vowed never to return to the city of Los Angeles for a football game.  Unfortunately my weakness for road trips overcame my vow, and the next thing I knew I was passing Casa de Fruta.  This began the way every trip to the LA game does: at the In n Out in Kettleman City surrounded by other Cal fans in a generally upbeat mood.  But, at this point, I told myself this trip would be different.  There would be neither heartache nor let down.  There would be no sadness, nor would there be the hollow echoes of lost chances exploring the cavernous hall in my brain where I keep my treasure trove of disappointments related to Cal football (I plan to unleash their beguilting power on my grandchildren 50 years from now).

Not because Cal might win, of course.  Pete Carroll and the Trojans in the Coliseum are less a football team in my mind now than a primeval, unexplainable force.  No, the reason I would not feel disappointed after our likely loss was that I planned to eat so much food that I could not feel anything else.  For LA is blessed with fine eating establishments which know no conference allegiance or terrible reffing.  Canter's, Pink's, Roscoe's, Diddy Riese, Albert's Mexican food and of course the omnipresent In n Out (on Radford).  Commence editorialized journalism.

Although ironically our first stop would be in the hip, happenin' city of Bell Gardens:

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 "If a ragnarok would burn all the slums and gas-works, and shabby garages, and long arc-lit suburbs, it could for me burn all the works of art--and I'd go back to trees..." -JRR Tolkien

For these...

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"Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are." -Brillat-Savarin

In some places, you might walk down the street to a market or eatery.  In LA, you take Wilshire to 405 to 10 to 60 to 710 to Garfield.  In traffic.  On a Saturday morning.

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If they'd lower the taxes and get rid of the smog and clean up the traffic mess, I really believe I'd settle here until the next earthquake.  -Groucho Marx

The wind really cleared out the air the night before.  Apparently there are mountains surrounding LA.  Who knew?

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"Tip the world on its side and everything loose will land in Los Angeles." -Frank Lloyd Wright

I tried to look for Stego warming up, but ended up only seeing a Sanchezosaur.

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"This is a fine tailgate, but the crowd is a bit older and it’s a sedate affair. I walk to campus, swept along by a sea of people wearing red shirts and carrying coolers. The idea of tailgating is to socialise with your friends before a sporting event—usually, an American football game." -The Economist

A fine tailgate, indeed.  At which point we attempted to get to Will Call.  Unfortunately at that moment the Trojans decided to walk into the stadium, requiring they rope off the crowd for 25 minutes.  This gentleman tried to razz the team.  To my astonishment, little effect, if any, was noticeable on the playing field.

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Hey, I don't come down to where you work and knock the license plate out of your hand.  -Seinfeld

Soon thereafter, it was time to get to our seats.  We were located a contour or two shy of Camp Four, halfway between the Hillary Step and South Col.  We only lost two men and a yak to edema.  The view, however, was nice.

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"What's our vector, Victor?" "Do we have clearance, Clarence?"  "Roger Roger."  "Over."

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Details aside, the game was tight, and the crowd, thankfully, was into it.

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"You're all winners!!!!!!"

The game being over meant it was time to continue eating, this time at Roscoe's.

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Overnight, the fourteen pounds of newly acquired food inside of me decided it wanted to explore the world outside my GI tract.  Thankfully, I manned up and punched the food, in the face, back to where it belongs.  It was the biggest victory of the trip. 

Little else of note happened on the remainder of the trip, except a visit from The Lord Almighty God Himself shortly after Kettleman:

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Coach Michalzik didst suffer much wailing and gnashing of teeth.  "Do not fret, my son," spake the lord, "Tepper shalt be granted a 6th year of eligibility."  There was much rejoicing. 

And God Himself reminded me that in the end, looking back, even in the rafters of the LA Coliseum, California is all blue and gold:

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GO BEARS.

Now that the oak grove is safely woodchipped and Mando, Dumpster Muffin, Shemp, Moe and Curly are spreading their BO elsewhere, some questions are begged:

Who's down for a tailgate on Panoramic Hill, music and BBQs blaring, (also, can we get the cannon over there?) every Saturday, forever?

When will actual construction start?  Are they going to concomitantly fix the stadium, as rumored? Will we be watching a season from the Coliseum?

But most importantly WHERE WILL CGB GET >70% of its material?!?!?!!??!?!

These will be answered in due time.  Some links.

EDSBS Takes Note of the end of our sitcha-ation in only the way that most diehard hardcore frat boy drankin college football fans do: a lovely poem.

Today, save a moment for
The lunatic and dedicated.
Their moment has abated,

Replaced with order, stability.

Dumpster Muffin, down from her tree.
This is the only way it can be.

Okanes gets players' and Tedford's reaction to the end of the grove, plus dealing with the time change. 

Fullback Will Ta’ufo’ou said he couldn’t believe his eyes when the team got back to the stadium Saturday.

“I was shocked,”  he said. “I didn’t think I would ever see this. I know it’s not going to be done until I leave. For me, it’s just more of a relief to see a conclusion to what’s going on.

Dump away, folks.

You wanna know what my take is on Longshore vs. Riley?

Shut The Fuck Up About Longshore Vs. Riley.

Do you know who the coach of Cal football is?  Jeff Tedford.  He will make the decision as to who will start, and he is 1000 times the football coach you could ever dream to be.

The best QB will get the job.  Period.  End of story.

NO MORE LONGSHORE VS. RILEY POSTS UNTIL AFTER THE MSU GAME.

_________________________________________________________________

And yea, it was written.

From: First Officer and Official of Officious Officiousness Spazzy McGee

To: All CaliforniaGoldenBlogs Purveyors, Partakers, Perusers, and ... Picnickers?

It has come to my attention that the time for removing the Photosynthetically-Enhanced Societally-Challenged Dwellers draws nigh.  In this thread we shall participate in a think tank wherein all possibilities of their immediate and/or gradual removal shall be considered without remonstrance or chastisement.  The rules are thus: as long as no one dies, all methods are kosher. 

Engage. 

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