April 2004 Archives

Two months ago:

Mom: We're planning to visit England this summer.
Me: Really? Awesome!
Mom: Would you like to join us?
Me: Yes!

Two weeks ago:

Mom: We're planning to take an Alaskan cruise.
Me: Huh? What about England?
Mom: With Iraq and terrorism, it's too dangerous. Want to join us?
Me: Um, sure, that's cool.

Two days ago:

Mom: We're going to Disneyland.
Me: Again? What happened to the Alaskan cruise?
Mom: It involves buying formal attire and your dad wants to stay at the Grand Californian. Want to come?
Me: Oh, okay, I guess.

Disneyland is my parents' default vacation destination. While I'm not against visiting the happiest place on earth every three years or so, variety can be a good thing. Television commercials have already planted a couple of ideas for possible trips after seeing Mickey.

This week's Photo Friday challenge is Natural. I took this photo last November while hiking along the Land's End Coastal Trail in San Francisco. I wouldn't mind being here on a sunny Friday like today.

Out of the thousands of words I read today, the four you wrote stand out, a handful of ordinary words forming a simple sentence. I know what it means, but perhaps it means something more. The futile examination begins.

Watch me read your words once and then again. See me mentally roll the sound around as I try to hear you say them, attempting to extract a tone and facial expression. Laugh as I try to gauge interest and importance or glean meaning and emotion. Roll your eyes as I try to read between the line.

This compact sentence isn't an inflatable raft. If I pull the comma, it won't expand into a full-blown explanation. It isn't densely packed with multiple meanings or hidden layers. Yet, stare in bewilderment as I attempt to peel it like an onion.

I need to step back and question my thought process. There is nothing to gain from overanalyzing and now I feel silly for getting caught up in it. What I read is what I get. The words say what they mean and nothing more. I wish I had accepted the fact sooner.

I drove up to Tiburon on Sunday morning. It's a little bayside community with a name that's fun to say. The town was bustling with activity due to Opening Day on the Bay, the first official day of the boating season in San Francisco. I was there to catch the ferry over to Angel Island for a hike and barbecue. The trip took about twenty minutes and the ferry docked in Ayala Cove.

As soon as we dropped off the food and drinks, we hiked the Sunset Trail to the peak of Mt. Livermore, which offers a beautiful panoramic view of the bay. It would have been nice to stay up there longer, but hunger struck and we were soon heading down the Northridge Trail back to the group picnic area.

After eating, a couple of us decided to venture over to the Immigration Station museum. Unfortunately, the station was closed for restoration. From 1910 to 1940, it not only served as the entry point for nearly a million immigrants, but also as a detainment center for thousands of Chinese immigrants. In fact, the government built the station to help enforce the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882. The facility gained national landmark status in 1997.

Visiting Angel Island was a relaxing way to spend a Sunday and we stayed as long as possible, but the last ferry eventually arrived to take us back to Tiburon and real life.

Sometimes I can hear this old earth shouting
Through the trees as the wind blows
That's when I climb up here on this mountain
To look through God's window
Now I can't fly
But I got two feet that get me high up here
Above the noise and city streets
My worries disappear

- "Mayberry" by Rascal Flatts

On Saturday, the family went with my sister to pick up the U-Haul truck she had reserved online. While she insisted on completing the paperwork and performing the vehicle inspection herself, she readily handed the keys over to my dad to let him drive. Like FBI agents assigned to escort precious cargo, my mom and I followed them in a dark-colored SUV. Our tiny caravan made its way to a small house in Campbell. We were there to pick up a piano.

It was a dark brown Ludwig upright. Its exterior showed some signs of aging. The instrument had accumulated its share of nicks and scratches over the years. Lifting the top revealed an interior full of dust and cobwebs. A date scrawled just beneath the lid indicated the piano was last tuned in 1945.

It was only an upright, but moving it proved to be a challenge for the three of us. My mom supervised. As we tried to figure out the best approach, images of an old Laurel and Hardy movie flashed across my mind. If it had been a baby grand, I don't know how we would have gotten it out of the house.

As it was, the easiest route required moving the piano up two steps to the entryway, down a step to get through the front door and then down the porch step. From there, it was a matter of steering around the garage and down the driveway to the truck ramp.

There was plenty of grunting, sweating, "Hold up!" and "On the count of three!" I learned that pianos are surprisingly sturdy instruments. Fortunately, we didn't ruin any flooring, crush any toes or destroy any family heirlooms in our less-than-graceful efforts.

We secured it in the truck and then drove residential speeds all the way to my place, even on the highways. It was much easier unloading the piano and rolling it into the garage. After cleaning it thoroughly, we'll move it into the dining room and have somebody come out and tune it.

My sister and I have an understanding that this is her piano. In exchange for keeping it at my place, I can play it anytime I want. Whenever I think about my dream house, I always envision a piano. This addition, however temporary, finally gives my place a feeling of home and I'm stoked.

I noticed Yahoo! Astrology recently went to short, indecipherable forecasts. Instead of nice understandable sentences to help guide people, there are ominous Matrix-like sayings to confuse them. This is from today...

"Quickie: Ignore the random. Don't reduce complex issues to absurdity. The loop stays closed."

If I took astrology seriously, I wouldn't know what to do with this advice. Ignore the random. Like this horoscope? The loop stays closed. What loop? The one I want others to keep me in? The one on a circuit board? I don't get it. I long for the old forecasts that made ambiguous references to generic situations applicable to everybody. At least those made a modicum of sense.

About eight months ago, we hiked to Berry Creek Falls from the Boulder Creek entrance of Big Basin Redwoods State Park. On Sunday, our destination was the same, but we began at the Rancho del Oso entrance, across the way from Waddell Beach. Even on overcast days, driving up the coastal Highway 1 is enjoyable.

The plan called for a moderate 12-mile out and back hike along the Skyline to the Sea and Berry Creek Falls Trails. We lunched on the wooden observation platform across from the falls. Afterwards, instead of retracing our steps, we improvised, headed off towards the Sunset Trail and (as expected) got lost. With a little luck and a map, we soon figured out how to get back on track. In the end, it took us approximately eight hours to finish 17 miles.

This was the first hike I've been on where the group got separated by miles. Paces varied and some folks struggled. The group I was with reached the beach about thirty minutes before the last one emerged from the trail head. While we waited and with a little encouragement, I removed my socks and hiking shoes and stood in the ocean. The freezing cold water worked wonders on my feet.

The last few days have been crazy. I stayed out late on Friday, spent Saturday in Pacifica and hiked in Big Basin on Sunday. At work, it took most of Monday to move into my new cubicle.

Yesterday, stress and a lack of sleep finally caught up with me. My throat started to hurt, my joints began to ache and all I wanted to do was sleep. I crawled into bed around seven last night and stayed there until seven this morning.

Today, I'm trying to take it easy, drink plenty of coffee fluids and take the unusual measure of eating on a regular basis. I also plan to sleep at a decent hour. All I need is some recovery time. I hate that it takes a cold to remind me to take better care of myself.

Time and energy has been lacking. There are replies I need to send and thoughts I want to chronicle. Don't mind me as I play catch up over the next few days. Aren't updates that attempt to explain a lack of updates just grand?

I wake up and remain motionless for a few seconds. Gradually, ever so gradually, I slide until my head hangs over the side of the bed. I look up at the floor and sigh deeply. Once my feet touch the carpet, the day will begin and many hours will pass before I'm beneath these sheets again.

Off in the distance, the alarm clock shrieks, nearly drowning out the sound of the television. I shut my eyes, slowly count to ten, silently swear and then let out a long battle cry. In one swift motion, the covers fly back and I roll full-tilt, tumbling to the floor. The day has begun.

It has been growing more difficult getting up and coming to work feeling motivated. Two weeks ago, I felt like a castaway on Survivor. I learned the company was letting people go or transferring them elsewhere, people close to my age, to whom I had grown close. Part of my alliance was being voted off the island.

It has taken time for the news to sink in and the full impact felt. Tomorrow, the office is throwing a going away party for them. It will be bittersweet. They are good people and while their departure saddens me, they've been given a chance to pursue something better and more satisfying and that heartens me.

The neighbors on either side of me have been on vacation for the last few days. Either that or they've been holding a competition to see who can pile their newspapers the highest. They are all very nice people. Whenever I see them, they always say hello in the friendliest way.

The neighbors on my right are a young family. The mom and dad are in their mid-thirties and they have a dog and three kids, none older than ten. Every now and then, when I'm leaving for work, I'll see the mom take the dog across to the park. When I'm home on the occasional Saturday, I'll sometimes see them pile into their monster SUV for a day trip. The people I just described make up 75% of the neighborhood.

On the other side is a retired couple. They have a dog and three grown children in their mid-thirties. They own a truck and RV that take turns providing shade for the asphalt between our driveways. Whenever my parents visit, the husband usually appears and strikes up a conversation with them. Other than that, I never see them. Retired folks represent 20% of the residential development.

I fit somewhere in the remaining five percent. If you think about it, I'm not that far from becoming part of the majority. I only need a spouse, child, dog and SUV, all of which should've come standard considering housing prices in the area.

When I get home tonight, I'll do something about the newspapers... like read them! No, I wouldn't do that, but it would be good to give strangers the impression that someone is home. Plus, the homeowners association frowns upon everything such things.

Two weekends ago, we stayed overnight in Sacramento. We were trying to avoid getting up extra early to make the long drive up. We had to be at Peak Adventures, located on the Sacramento State campus, by six a.m. for a pre-trip meeting.

We were going outdoor rock climbing. After picking up our helmets, harnesses and climbing shoes, we all piled into a big blue van for the ride to Cosumnes River Gorge. Having never climbed before, I was full of nervous energy and adrenaline.

It was a short hike to the spot. The instructors took their time explaining everything. Before anyone attempted a single climb, we all practiced tying knots (figure eights and slip), checking equipment and belaying. Every climb involved a three-person team: the climber, belayer and secondary belayer.

I was one of the first people belaying, which felt more stressful than climbing. It required focusing on the climber, the rope and one's hands. The first time my climber fell, I never reacted to something so quickly in my life. I swung the rope in my right hand behind me to apply the brakes. He dropped two feet, the amount of slack on his end of the rope. I was so relieved once he was safely back on the ground.

The instructors set up three top-rope climbs for us. They were all crack climbs. I attempted and completed two out of three. Only two people, both indoor climbers, finished them all.

I was never worried about falling. I had faith in my belayer. The instructor told everyone, "It's not a matter of if you fall. You will fall." Oddly enough, those words eased my mind. When I climbed, I lost all track of height. I wouldn't realize how high I was until reaching the top and looking back down.

My arms, fingers and feet hurt slightly for the next couple of days. The climbing shoes provided excellent friction, but my soles could feel every square inch of rough surface as though I were climbing barefooted.

Before I go outdoor climbing again, I plan to visit someplace like Planet Granite in Santa Clara. It would be beneficial to learn proper techniques. Scrambling up a wall, like I did that day, is probably not the recommended approach.

By the end, I was stoked and exhausted. We had an early dinner before heading home that evening. I reached my front door by nine p.m. or so. I dropped my bag on the floor, took a long hot shower and then conked out on a bed that never seemed softer.

I'm pretty sure the band was getting impatient. The first two members arrived near the end of the first period of a 0-0 game between the Sharks and Blues. We sat near the front door of Britannia Arms, located a few blocks away from the HP Pavilion, which was awash in a sea of black and teal.

I'd walked by this sports bar many times, but had never gone inside. Honestly, I haven't been in many sports bars, so I was impressed by the three big screen televisions and other wall-mounted units scattered throughout the pub slash restaurant. One could watch the Giants struggle against the Padres on one set, turn a head to witness the keyboard player setting up on the stage and then look up to see San Jose and St. Louis still scoreless after two periods.

I don't own a lot of sports-related attire. Two baseball caps and a sun visor make up my entire collection. It can be quite expensive to display team loyalty, especially with authentic gear. Last night, I made a deal with myself. When San Francisco wins the World Series, I'll buy a jersey. To be fair, I'll purchase a sweater if San Jose takes the Stanley Cup. I should probably bulk up so either one will hang more fashionably on my frame.

That paragraph was all to say I wasn't showing any team spirit. Well, except for the Giants cap that seems to permanently adorn my head once I'm out of the office. The drummer finally arrived during the third period. The score was still tied at zero. He came in just after Barry Bonds flew out to deep center. The ball was a foot shy of becoming home run #660.

As the overtime period began, the place started to fill up. The band was ready and eager to play. About ten minutes into the extra period, San Jose scored first and won the game. Cheers erupted from all corners of the bar. The band broke out "Rock and Roll, Part II" (the "Hey!" song, as one person put it) to celebrate the victory and start their set. It was one suspenseful and exciting game. Game 2 is tomorrow afternoon. Go Sharks!

This is my fifth attempt at writing this entry about nothing in particular. The previous four are tabs in TextPad. Each of them grew to be about a paragraph in length before being abandoned, but they remain undeleted just in case there is a stray idea or particular phrase worth salvaging.

Thoughts have been piling up in the inbox of my mind. Let's glance through the stack, there is: baseball, the Sharks, Maroon 5, Condoleezza Rice, Iraq, eyeball jewelry, good-byes, pearl tea, comfort zones, England, landscaping, replying to emails, Eurotrip, journals on hiatus, changes at work, Hidalgo, Yosemite, challenging myself, procrastination, running, coffee, The Bachelor, the One and the upcoming weekend. What my head needs is a good filter and a sort function.

Based on how quickly I hit my remote control's help!-get-me-out-of-here button, I believe and fervently hope that John, Jon Peter and Camile will be in the bottom three tonight. Averting eyes, covering ears and cringing in agony are all part of the Idol experience, but not this late in the competition.

Jon Peter sang "Rocket Man", a song that also appears on William Hung's newly released album. It often looks like multiple people are controlling JP's body and he isn't one of them. His free arm shoots out a beat after it should, his head swivels oddly and he seems to lurch across the stage.

John Stevens performed "Crocodile Rock" and I fell off the couch when he went into his falsetto. While he should be the one going home tonight, his adoring fans will likely prolong his public humiliation and send Camile Velasco packing. I like her, but her rendition of "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" was horrendous.

While some of the women continue to impress me with their strong performances, Mr. Huff was my favorite. He took "Take Me to the Pilot" and gave it his trademark jolt of exuberance. He looks nervous when he isn't performing, but once he starts doing his thing, he looks like a natural. I hope he sticks around until the end.

The Monterey Bay Aquarium opened a new shark exhibit on Friday, which gave us an excuse to visit one of my favorite coastal communities. When we got there, it was cold and cloudy and remained that way the entire day.

The new exhibit highlighted sharks from around the globe and the international efforts being made to protect the species. The scalloped hammerhead and leopard were two of the more memorable sharks on display.

My favorite exhibit had to be Jellies: Living Art. I could spend hours watching the way they float and pulse. Their colors and shape change constantly, creating a mesmerizing effect. We spent a bit of time taking photographs, trying to capture their beauty digitally.

For lunch, we walked over to Vivolo's Chowder House. I tried their New England clam chowder, which was quite delicious. I love when soup comes in a bread bowl.

After lunch, we returned to the aquarium to check out the otters and penguins, two very popular exhibits, especially with families. There was no shortage of kids scampering about, eager to explore and learn. It's so invigorating to see their energy and curiosity.

I wanted to wander around Cannery Row and explore some of the surrounding towns, but the day ended too quickly. Perhaps I'll get a chance to visit this summer and try kayaking around the bay.

I slept a full eight hours, but struggled to get out of bed this morning. I went through my pre-work routine in a hunched over stupor. I've grown accustomed to sleeping so little, my body can't make out what to do with a healthy dose of rest. I wonder how it would respond to another eight hours of shuteye tonight.

I took this photo Saturday afternoon. Since I was actually home during daylight hours, it seemed like a good time to do some yard work. The goal was simple: get water to the backyard, which meant connecting two existing pipes. One end was a feeder pipe near the front fence. The other end was a pipe running beneath the recently installed patio. Armed with a borrowed pickaxe, I diligently dug between the fixed points and put down some pipe. As you can see, the trench turned out nice and straight, for the most part. Eventually, the patio will wrap around this side of the house and end at the air conditioner.

This week's Photo Friday challenge is Atmosphere. The photo was taken near the summit of Mount Diablo, which is a little over 3,800 feet above sea level.

I've been slacking around here and I feel guilty. I used to post twice a day, a habit that formed because of the train commute. Productivity has slipped. A few bloggers keep a consistent schedule. If you read them long enough, you can predict when their next post will arrive. I need to get back into a regular routine.

Anyway, I had yesterday off and stayed away from the computer, which exacerbated the slacker feeling. Our office was closed to observe Cesar Chavez Day. My plan was to used the day to catch up on sleep, go to the gym, watch a little television and putter around the house. It was a very ambitious plan.

I awoke unusually early, around seven in the morning. I attempted to go back to sleep, but couldn't find the motivation to stay in bed. As I stared at the ceiling, contemplating the different soap operas and daytime talk shows to watch, images of Capitola and the beach flashed across my mind's eye.

I leapt out of bed, hit the gym and then hit the road. With the windows rolled down and The Beach Boys playing on the cassette deck, I cruised over Hecker's Pass, pretending to be behind the wheel of a classic woodie.

I think I was trying to recapture the feeling I had when I last visited Capitola alone. For a few hours, the feeling was there. I found comfort in my solitude and anonymity, a sense of freedom. It reminded me of a line from "Between" by Vienna Teng...

Freedom is being alone
I fear liberation

As evening approached, my comfort started to fade like the light from the setting sun. I began to desire company and resented the yearning. I told myself it was only a moment of weakness that would pass, but it didn't.

I gazed out at the waves and the surfers in their wet suits. I looked at the cliffs rising behind me. The place hadn't changed, but after nine months, I must have. What had happened in that time? Was I becoming incapable of enjoying time alone?

Staring at the empty space next to me, I tried to imagine who I would want sitting there with me, sharing the moment. I hoped to convince myself that I couldn't come up with one person, but I could. Not only that, but I came up with a whole handful. What I would�ve given for any one of them to appear beside me right then.

At some point, I realized the futility of the exercise. Nobody was going to fall out of the sky, so I decided to grab a bite to eat before heading home. There was no use wishing and hoping if I didn�t have the resolve to do something. I need to stop dawdling and take some initiative.

I�ll write something more cheerful and uplifting when I get back home later tonight.