June 2004 Archives

Last night was a bad one if you were a fan of the Red Sox, Giants or Todd Glass.

The Yankees trounced the Red Sox 11-3. Boston took an early 1-0 lead in the first inning off a Johnny Damon home run, but then fell apart behind Derek Lowe's pitching. I listened to the massacre over the web.

I watched the Giants lose to the Dodgers by a score of 2-1. Both starting pitchers only gave up one run, but it was a Paul Lo Duca single in the eighth inning that put L.A. on top. Barry Bonds had four plate appearances and walked all four times. He's only nine away from becoming the all-time walk leader. Rickey Henderson currently holds that distinction with 2,191 base on balls.

Song on my mind... "She Will Be Loved" by Maroon 5

Tap on my window knock on my door
I want to make you feel beautiful
I know I tend to get so insecure
It doesn't matter anymore

It's not always rainbows and butterflies
It's compromise that moves us along
My heart is full and my door's always open
You can come anytime you want

The photo has nothing to do with the past weekend or this entry. It was suffering from claustrophobia on my hard drive and needed some fresh air.

On Saturday, we saw a production of Carl Sternheim's The Underpants, as adapted by Steve Martin. My favorite character was Versati, the melodramatic poet. He seduces the lady of the house and at the very moment she gives herself to him, he retreats to his room to immortalize her and their moment of heated passion in verse. One could see Martin's comedic fingerprints all over this hundred-year-old satire in the double entendres, hilarious one-liners and over-the-top performances. The audience was able to connect with the story and characters through his humor.

I spent most of Sunday moving bricks and assembling patio furniture. When completed, there will be a gazebo and three-person swing in the backyard. According to the pictures on the instruction booklets, the furniture will be sturdy and elegant. I don't know. We'll see how accurate those pictures really are when everything is built.

As I begin this entry, you should know this is not the first attempt, but the fourth. If this word processor were a pad of paper, you would see three crumpled, yellow wads lying around a wicker wastebasket, indicating a slump in writing and trash can shooting abilities. If you're wondering about the paper color, I happen to like yellow legal pads. If you're curious as to why the wastebasket is wicker, let me try to explain.

Instead of sitting in this dark, generic computer chair, in front of this massive monitor, typing on this black keyboard in a nondescript room, I'd rather envision myself writing outside on a bungalow porch. It would have a white wicker swing with a hibiscus-patterned cushion and pillows. There would be a coffee table and a wicker wastebasket by the white railing. A calming view of lush greenery (or possibly a sandy beach) would greet me as I gazed off and tried to piece together thoughts and phrases or paused to take a sip of freshly roasted coffee.

This isn't to say that a world of wicker would be the ideal setting for writing or relaxing, but it fits my current mood. For right now, it's my happy place of choice and a pleasant hiding spot from my self-censor.

Traffic: Light. No accidents on the 101 or 280.
Weather: Clear skies with a slight breeze. Feels in the mid-60s.
Sports: Giants sweep the Dodgers and have a six-game winning streak.
News: Today is Friday. That's newsworthy, right?

Whenever I go to a 50's style diner that offers a wide selection of burgers, it's amusing to order a salad. The grilled chicken salad at Peggy Sue's isn't bad.

As soon as I got home, I sat down at the piano and opened the cover. I wiggled my fingers and shook my wrists to loosen things up and played an 88-key chromatic scale. It sounded beautiful and in tune. Keys were no longer stuck and major chords no longer sounded minor. A music book rested on top of the piano and I pulled it down to play the first official piece. It was open to "My Foolish Heart" by Ned Washington and Victor Young, a song written fifty-five years ago for a movie of the same name.

Speaking of movies, I'm trying NetFlix for the next two weeks. People have been raving about the service and I was searching for somewhere that had a better selection than the local Blockbuster. The first three DVDs in my queue are supposed to arrive tomorrow, so if anybody sees me hanging around the community mailbox, that's the reason. If the mail carrier happens to deliver them while I'm making a quick Starbucks run (because he or she has been waiting for the strange guy to move away from the mailbox), I'll hopefully find upon my return...

1. Seven Samurai
2. Step Into Liquid
3. The Triplets of Belleville

On an unrelated note, I really like the animated United Airlines commercials. They are warm sixty-second stories set to George Gerswhin's "Rhapsody in Blue" and contain almost no dialogue. My favorite has to be "Interview" by Wendy Tilby and Amanda Forbis, about a man flying to an interview and realizing, too late, that his shoes don't match. The artwork and music make the ad an enjoyable one to watch.

This week's Photo Friday challenge is Clouds. It was a beautiful day in Monterey and I happened to glance at the sky.

After two months of waiting, somebody finally came to tune the piano. The wait would've been much shorter, but we wanted my parents' piano tuner. He first tuned theirs some twenty years ago. My folks were so impressed by his diligence, professionalism and, above all else, reasonable rates, they called him back every other year or so to retune it.

I remember he would spend about an hour cleaning keys, repeatedly playing the same notes and chords and adjusting strings until everything sounded just right. My sister and I would watch him from another room, in rapt fascination, for about five minutes before boredom set in. We would then run outside, ride our bikes or play in the backyard while he worked.

Eventually, a flourish of music would burst from every open window and door, which meant he had finished. We would rush back, sit by the screen door and listen to him play. Every note sounded so fresh and crisp. Before leaving, he would write the date on one of the keys and sometimes leave us a songbook of classical music.

My mom would dust and wax the piano, giving it a new look to match the new sound. We would slide across the slippery bench and then start practicing again with renewed vigor. I really can't wait to get home, try out the piano and hear how it sounds. It's such a small thing, but it's still exciting.

The doorbell rang around 9 PM the other evening. I answered the door thinking it was a neighbor because I couldn't fathom a solicitor being out that late. I was mistaken. John, the Orkin Man, greeted me. Actually, he was more like the Orkin Boy. He was pretty young and I wondered if this was his summer job, going door-to-door to drum up business. He seemed nervous, but was extremely friendly.

John told me horrific tales of ant and spider infestations in the neighborhood and then queried about the status of my household insects. "Oh, I find one here and there every now and then," I said vaguely. He was rather disappointed by this news and seeking to extend his stay, complimented me on my baseball cap and insisted on discussing the sport. We talked for a few minutes until I found a way to politely conclude the conversation and send him away, lest he miss curfew. He didn't make a sale, but I did give him an update on the Athletics and Giants games.

Perusing yesterday's baseball scoreboard, the Giants won their fourth game in a row. With last night's victory over the Dodgers, they've snuck into first place and lead by half a game. Edgardo Alfonzo, San Francisco's third baseman, has been the key to their recent success. Over the last four games, he knocked in thirteen runs. On Sunday, Jason Schmidt pitched against Boston and threw his second one-hitter of the season. The Giants ace quietly ranks in the top three in wins, strikeouts and ERA along with the likes of Roger Clemens and Randy Johnson. Let's see if S.F. can sweep L.A. and give themselves a nice cushion in first place.

I awoke rather abruptly at three in the morning and had the undeniable urge to vacuum. It's so typical that the impulse to operate a loud machine would suddenly strike during the middle of the night when normal people, like my neighbors, would be sound asleep. I have no proof my neighbors are normal, but for the sake of argument, let's assume they are. I doubt the noise from my Hoover WindTunnel would carry through two exterior walls and across the ten feet separating us, but I wasn't eager to chance it and disturb them.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but too many things were running through my head. "Things" is my articulate way of saying worries, memories, ideas and plans. I eventually got up and wrote a list of everything I needed to do over the next week or two. With it on paper and off my mind, I soon dozed off and rested peacefully until the alarm clock scared me back to consciousness two hours later.

My sleeping and eating habits have been all over the place lately. It’s all about reestablishing a daily routine of seven hours and three meals. Sounds simple enough, right? That said, I still need to vacuum when I get home.

Song on my mind... "Take Me Out" by Franz Ferdinand

So if you're lonely
You know I'm here waiting for you
I'm just a crosshair
I'm just a shot away from you
And if you leave here
You leave me broken, shattered I lie
I'm just a crosshair
I'm just a shot then we can die

I know I won't be leaving here with you

I love the tempo change after that line. There is tension between these two people where something of personal value is at stake, yet both would rather take a bullet than take a chance and fail.

Oh, this is the start of something good
Don't you agree?
I haven't felt like this in so many moons

With the exception of the forgotten card, this weekend rocked. One of the highlights was Alice's Summerthing held at Speedway Meadow in Golden Gate Park. San Francisco was cloudy and a bit cool when we got there. It was perfect weather for shorts, if one prefers cold legs.

Gavin DeGraw led off the festivities. He played a fun set of songs that included "Follow Through", "Chariot", a cover of Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" and his biggest hit, "I Don't Want To Be". While we listened to him, we would glance over at ordinary people attempting the trapeze provided by Trapeze Arts. It was mostly amusing, but sometimes disconcerting, especially when parents allowed their toddlers to swing unassisted on bars too big for their hands.

When Berlin took the stage, we went to have our body fat tested. Don't get me wrong. They have many good songs, including "Take My Breath Away", but we were curious. We could hear the band perfectly fine as we stood in the long line. For the record, according to the Futrex-5000, I have 16.1% body fat, which is considered "Good". I wonder about the accuracy of the test.

Besides listening to great music, there were many vendors at the concert. One was giving away advanced copies of Wild Animus, an interesting looking book I'm adding to my lengthy reading queue. Starbucks was serving frappuccino samples and an olive company was handing out free visors on an overcast day.

We made it back to our blanket in time to hear Five for Fighting finish their set. I loved John Ondrasik's vocals and the way he played the grand piano. The band performed "100 Years", "Superman" and a number of songs I wanted to recognize.

Smash Mouth was the headliner and to prove how cool they were, the sun decided to break through the clouds and shine upon us as they began performing. I briefly felt vindicated for wearing shorts, but then felt dumb again once the wind picked up. I might have been warmer if I had twenty-percent body fat. Either that or pants. They played songs from all four albums including "Then the Morning Comes" and "Can't Get Enough of You Baby", two of my favorites.

My heart cries out more baby
It feels so nice
I want your arms to wrap around me twice

On Sunday, I treated my dad, mom and sister to a Father's Day dinner, but arrived without a card. I realized this as I spotted my sister perusing the menu posted in front of BJ's. My mom held the restaurant pager, a little device that allows you to roam around and spend money in other parts of the mall while waiting for your table. At some point, somebody presses a magic button and the device starts buzzing and flashing as though you shoplifted merchandise.

Suddenly aware of my faux pas, I devised a dumb plan to buy a last-minute card. I asked my mom, "Where's Dad?"

"He's parking the car. The table won't be ready for another twenty or thirty minutes," she replied.

"Oh. Okay. May I borrow a pen, please?"

My sister, D, turned from the menu and with a disapproving look and a hint of suspicion in her voice asked, "Why do you need a pen?" I gave her a blank look and she scoffed, "You didn't get him a card!" She snorted, rolled her eyes, shook her head and turned back to the menu. I can usually anticipate and avoid the Eye Roll of Death, but this time I didn't try. I deserved it.

My mom handed me a pen, a souvenir from the Aston Waikiki Beach Tower. I thanked her and headed into the mall. As I closed in on Hallmark, I spotted my dad walking towards the restaurant. I quickly ducked into the store and hurried by the display cases of ornaments and decorative widgets to the card section. There was still a surprisingly large selection: funny, dumb, sappy, inappropriate, from daughter, for uncle, unoriginal, from both of us, en Español. I perused them all and finally settled on one that was sentimental and short.

After paying for the card, I signed it, stuffed it in the envelope, hid it under my shirt and tucked the pen in my pocket. As I walked, the paper edges jabbed me in the small of the back, pointed reminders to be more thoughtful in the future.

When I got back, my sister and dad were still waiting outside. My dad greeted me with a smile, one indicating that D had apprised him of the situation. It was a smile of quiet disappointment. My sister asked sharply, "Where's the pen?"

I carefully pulled it from my pocket and showed them. My dad said, "Not a very large choice of cards left, huh?"

"No, not really. Only a few Shoebox and Spanish cards," I lied. My sister gave a derisive, how-typical-of-you laugh. Although I screwed up, my pride was still desperately seeking a way to minimize the damage. It's too soon, it said, wait until everyone has ordered before giving him the card. You won't emerge unscathed, but perhaps you'll salvage something.

With little left to lose, I did just that. After ordering, I slipped the card out and, with an apologetic and anxious sigh, slid it across the table to my dad. D made a you've-got-to-be-kidding-me sound, but he accepted it good-naturedly and thanked me. I wasn't scot-free, but at least the darkest guilt clouds had lifted. The rest of the dinner went well.

It's these lapses in considerate behavior that trouble me the most. I've been striking out lately in my role as the good son. Somehow, I need to redeem myself.

Friday is finally here. It sauntered in casually, unhurried and looking unrepentant for making us wait. It knew everybody eagerly anticipated its arrival, so it never worried about taking its sweet time. People would be relieved and happy just the same. Friday, by now, must have the biggest ego of any weekday. Who hasnt' been thankful for it? Who hasn't sung its praises? It has its own motto and even a restaurant named after it. If you're Friday, you only have to work one day a week. It's good to be Friday.

It's Thursday evening and I find myself sitting outside with a cool breeze and in short sleeves. A rush of wind blows in my ears and I hear cars go by as people hurry from their offices to live their lives. I love that the sun sets so late now. I wonder if people make the most of these extra hours of sunlight given to them. I wonder if it makes them happier.

An hour ago, I hadn't planned to be here. It was a rather spontaneous decision that started out as an idea when I left the parking lot using the wrong driveway. The appeal of freedom helped the idea grow into a realistic possibility to be considered. A responsible inner voice said disbelievingly, "You wouldn't dare!" To which a rebellious inner voice replied, "Oh yeah? Watch me!"

Now, of course, I'm left to mull over what to do next. There are countless productive and unproductive ways to spend my remaining waking hours. While the natural laws of physics have me gravitating towards wasting time, I feel this intrinsic need to accomplish something.

It doesn't have to be much. Reading a hundred pages of a book. Writing a few pages in a notebook. Making a grocery list. Pricing and researching equipment for another trip. Seeing how my legs respond to a short run. Something. Anything beyond the same old routine.

An elderly lady, likely a tourist, with white hair and wearing a light blue floral-patterned blouse, just tried to bum a cigarette off me. I told her, without thinking, "I'm sorry. I don't smoke." She then said, more to herself than to me, "I can't believe I can't get a cigarette from anybody. What is wrong with people around here?" She then returned to her three friends, all around her age, and went on a mini-rant. As I write this, I can hear her, off in the distance, asking other people if they have any smokes. I hope she finds one soon because she sounds grumpier.

I neglected to bring a jacket from the car. As the sun dips down and shadow creeps up the sides of buildings, it has become quite brisk. I'm this close to giving a shiver and my hands are cold, two obvious signs to wrap up the fun. I like writing this way. I can't explain it. Nostalgia, perhaps? Happiness is writing outdoors on a spring evening. Okay, bell chimes and goose bumps. I'm gone.

I heart ImageStation. It may not be the best photo-sharing site out there, but it suits my simplistic needs and doesn't crash during my multiple-hour uploads. It kept me occupied after getting home from the cheap movies the other night. We had seen Tina Fey's tartly funny Mean Girls.

I was assembling the electronic album from the latest Yosemite trip. As I sorted through the photos, picking out the ones to share, I tried to piece together some sort of story line. It didn't take long for gaps in the narrative to appear. There were moments and people pictorially missing from the weekend. I could only tell part of the tale. I sat in front of the computer, stared at the thumbnail images on the screen and rapidly tapped my finger on the mouse out of frustration.

I had a plot (journey to the mountain) and a setting (the mountain), but very little character development. There was a distinct lack of people in the pictures. When photographing others, one intrudes on their personal space and privacy. If one is comfortable with this, opportunities present themselves for profoundly candid shots, which helps provide continuity. I haven't reached that comfort level yet. Consequently, large spans of time are skipped since they only contain objects and landscapes. I need to step back, look around and digitally capture the bigger picture, people and all.

I finished the album with a generically unhappy sigh and sent out its link so others could view my handiwork. The next one will be better. I just need a little practice.

This week's Theme Thursday challenge is Bend. This section of rail runs between the San Fernando and Diridon stations of the future Vasona Light Rail Extension in San Jose. When completed, it will provide service from downtown to Campbell and Los Gatos.

Song on my mind... "I Don't Want To Be" by Gavin DeGraw

I don't want to be
Anything other than what I've been trying to be lately
All I have to do
Is think of me and I have peace of mind
I'm tired of looking 'round rooms
Wondering what I've got to do
Or who I'm supposed to be
I don't want to be anything other than me

I love his voice, the song and especially the video, which showcases Shiri Appleby from Roswell. DeGraw will be on Pepsi Smash in a couple of weeks. I remember first hearing of him when he performed on that show last summer.

Three weeks ago...

"Do you think you'll ever hike Half Dome again?" It was a question asked less than an hour after we returned to the village. Despite my aching toes, I answered with a shrug, "Maybe in a year."

Three days ago...

We were atop Half Dome once more. The journey along rocky and ascending trails was easier the second time around. We started later, but hiked more rapidly. It took over an hour to climb the last 900 feet. One needs to reach the base before noon for people-free cables.

We spent nearly two hours on the dome taking photos, walking from one end to the other and snacking. The snow from three weeks ago had melted. Girls in swimsuits sunbathed. A group of guys roasted hot dogs on their miniature grill. Teenagers leaned precariously over the edge to look thousands of feet below. While waiting for the others to arrive, we took a little time to write. It was quite wonderful.

On the valley floor, the question was repeated, "Would you hike Half Dome again?" My answer was the same as before, but I was more adamant. There is so much to explore in Yosemite and beyond. Too much, actually, but just the right amount to keep me preoccupied for a while.

Half Dome. Been there, done that and loved it. It whetted my appetite. I won't take it for granted, but other adventures await.

Set a television show in Hawaii and I'll watch at least one episode. Will Fox's North Shore be any good? Unlikely. My gut tells me that it will be another Hotel Malibu, but with island eye candy this time. Yet I'll happily sit through it if sacrificing an hour of my time will encourage the network to produce more shows like The O.C. and Arrested Development and air less reality programming like The Simple Life and The Swan.

The second day came fast. I woke up before my alarm, which is unusual on most days, but quite common on trips. The morning sun lit our tent and we were soon preparing for the long day's hike. One thing that becomes apparent is how difficult it is to move about a tent cabin without waking anyone up.

We were on our way to Half Dome by 7:00. The most heavily traveled portion of the trail is the first 1.5 miles to the bridge that crosses the Merced River. We climbed the wet steps of the Mist Trail and Vernal Fall duly misted us. The stone staircase would be the first of three leading up to the dome. Somebody in our group called it the ultimate Stairmaster. When we reached the top of the second staircase at Nevada Fall, we had climbed 1,900 feet.

The weather was cool, but I still had to shed two layers of clothing and made a mental note to dress and pack lighter the next time I came. We soon left the sand-covered trails of Little Yosemite Valley and started up the long switchbacks leading to the third and most difficult set of stairs.

As we progressed, our group of nine slowly broke apart due to different hiking paces. B charged out ahead and reached the top of Half Dome by 10:50. I was part of the second group. We rested at the base for about ten minutes. Then two of us, noticing how empty the cables and plywood slats were, decided to don our gloves and walk up the mountain. We reached the peak at 11:50. Two more arrived ten minutes later and the last of our group made the climb while we were coming down.

As I stood atop Half Dome (a.k.a. Tissiack) with a view of the valley, I began to understand what inspired John Muir to write, "... the Valley, comprehensively seen, looks like an immense hall or temple lighted from above. But no temple made with hands can compare with Yosemite." In 1868, when he first set foot in the valley, he was just thirty. Muir would later help Yosemite become a national park. I wonder what he would think of its development and present condition if he were alive today.

We took group photos and began the trek back around 1:00. The cables were full of hikers, like a freeway jam during rush hour. As I slowly made my way down, someone above me shouted, "Camera!" Seconds later a silvery, digital-camera-shaped object clattered down the side of the dome, about fifty feet off to my right, and disappeared into the valley below. Somewhere in Yosemite, a yellow-bellied marmot is taking photos with a Canon Powershot.

The rest of the hike back was uneventful. We returned the same way we came, but my toes began to hurt as we descended the uneven stone steps. I reached Curry Village by 4:20. I was tired, a bit stiff and ready for a hot shower and meal. We had two large, steaming pizzas and then took a shuttle to Mirror Lake to photograph watery reflections at sunset. Later that night, I tucked myself into my sleeping bag and had little trouble falling asleep.

when I close my eyes
I can see forever
and the leaves on the trees
are a brilliant green
my heart hears the sound
of a distant calling
the wind on my face says to me
I've got to live my life differently

- "When I Close My Eyes" by The Basics

I'm presently feeling fairly flustered and more incompetent than usual with the English language. Therefore, I will yield the rest of this entry to the ever clever and hilarious Calvin and Hobbes...

Calvin: I flunked a test today, but I don't mind.
Hobbes: No?
Calvin: It's a question of priority, Hobbes. A man's got to make room for what he cares about. These days are precious, and I'd rather spend them goofing around than studying.
Hobbes: I never really thought of ignorance as a quality of life issue.
Calvin: Apparently, neither has Dad.

The sun is out and summer is only two weeks away, so following in Elke's footsteps, here are my Top 5 favorite sun songs...

1. "Warmth of the Sun" by The Beach Boys
2. "Island in the Sun" by Weezer
3. "Soak Up the Sun" by Sheryl Crow
4. "Sunshine on My Shoulders" by John Denver
5. "Walking on the Sun" by Smash Mouth

A sufficient amount of time has passed since the last baker's dozen (one photo and twelve bullets), so here is a fresh, Atkins-friendly batch to snack on...

1. Saw Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban in my town's recently renovated theater.
2. David Thewlis was endearing as Professor Lupin, the latest Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
3. Productively spent four hours finishing the backyard brickwork while waiting for a phone call that never came.
4. "All in all, not bad, not bad at all." - Ronald Reagan
5. Smarty Jones was that close to winning the Triple Crown.
6. Inadvertently found a CD, missing for three months, in a random DVD case.
7. Had the most delicious Kahlua Cream Cheese pie (with chocolate cookie crust) from Marie Callendar's.
8. Spent another beautiful (but brief) day on Angel Island.
9. After the short hike, rewarded myself with a cup of Cinnabon Flavored coffee.
10. The best car conversations shrink the miles and expand the mind.
11. Greg Kinnear does a perfect impression of Ted Koppel in Stuck on You.
12. I've never laughed so hard at somebody dressed as a giant teddy bear.

This week's Photo Friday challenge is Landscape. Boulder formations always intrigue me. Scale is hard to determine, but from memory, the stained stone mass stood some twelve or fifteen feet high.

Every once in a while, it's fun to go archive diving. Driven by random curiosity, I wonder what people wrote X years ago on this day. One could probably describe, at great length, what is so fascinating about delving through past musings, but that isn't the point of this post. I recently stumbled across something daydreamy wrote two years ago. Inspired by LuckyKat, she compiled a list of the 25 most influential books in her life.

I was inspired to sit down and jot down my own list. These aren't necessarily my favorite books. Honestly, I'm not fond of a few of them, but they've had an undeniable impact on me. Eight titles can be attributed to Mrs. A, my English teacher in the ninth and twelfth grades. I can only imagine how disappointed she would be with the quality and quantity of books I read today. Anyway, in rough autobiographical order...

1. Greek Gods and Heroes by Robert Graves
2. Lord of the Flies by William Golding
3. Lost Horizon by James Hilton
4. Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
5. The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
6. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
7. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Jack Kerouac
8. The Complete Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle
9. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams
10. Sez Who? Sez Me by Mike Royko
11. The Natural by Bernard Malamud
12. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
13. The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien
14. Don Quixote by Miguel De Cervantes
15. Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis
16. Curtain by Agatha Christie
17. The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan
18. The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri
19. Walt Disney by Bob Thomas
20. The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
21. The Art of War by Sun Tzu
22. On the Good Life by Cicero
23. Guards! Guards! by Terry Pratchett
24. Walden by Henry David Thoreau
25. This Side of Paradise by F. Scott Fitzgerald

We left the Bay Area around eight on Friday morning and reached the Big Oak Flat Entrance a little after 11 AM. We stopped for gas at the last station before the park and paid the price for my procrastination... $3.09 per gallon. The tank wasn't empty, but to be safe, I reluctantly bought three gallons. Note to self: Buy gas in Oakdale.

We were too early to check in, so we headed up to Glacier Point, making numerous stops along the way to take photos. One particular vista point was packed. The lot was full of motorcycles, antique cars and charter buses. With a little persistence, I found a place to park and tried to see what was so special about this spot. Bikers, senior citizens and Japanese tourists lined the edge of the lot and had their cameras trained on something. I followed their gaze and saw beautiful Bridalveil Fall. I quickly joined them and snapped a few shots.

Our first hike was to the top of Sentinel Dome first. The wind was quite strong, but the 360-degree view was spectacular. We had our first glimpse of Half Dome, which rose another 700 feet above our vantage point. I sat on one of the large flat stones huddled around the toppled Jeffrey Pine at the center of the dome and its warmth surprised me. I took a moment to enjoy the sun-heated seating.

We then hiked to Taft Point. The trail was damp and large patches of icy snow (photo) remained. It hailed lightly for a minute or two before we came out of the wooded area and to the fissures, deep vertical slices through the granite. We were rewarded with a dramatic view of El Capitan and Yosemite Valley some 3,500 feet below.

We continued on to Glacier Point, a very popular spot in the park. From where we stood, it was easy to frame Vernal Fall, Nevada Fall and Half Dome in the camera viewfinder. They looked small enough to require only a hop, skip and jump to reach the top. "Just think," somebody said. "You'll be climbing that tomorrow." I nodded solemnly, peered across the seemingly painted landscape and thought, "This will be the hardest trail I ever hiked."

We then drove down to Curry Village and waited in a long line at the reservation desk. At first, I was taken aback by the number of people and cars, but reminded myself that escaping from civilization wasn't the purpose of this trip. The only real way to do that in Yosemite was to avoid the valley and backpack through the lesser-known parts of the park, far from any road and creature comfort.

We ate a buffet dinner in the dining hall, showered and loitered a little while in the lounge before retiring early to our tent cabin. On any other Friday, I would have stayed up late and slept in even later, but Saturday promised to be a long day and would require an early start.

Driving at the speed limit, Monterey is an hour away. It took about fifty minutes (or all of tape 4 side 2, for those at home) to reach the Monterey Bay Waterfront Park, a small park bordered by Del Monte Beach and the Monterey Bay Coastal Trail. It has picnic areas, barbecue pits and sand volleyball courts.

In the morning, the weather was sunny and just chilly enough to require a sweatshirt. The continuous wind made lighting the pit a challenge. After many failed attempts and a substantial amount of lighter fluid, the charcoal was finally burning. In addition to the standard hot dogs, we enjoyed barbecue chicken and steak. There were also delicious bacon-wrapped shrimp; each stuffed with cheese and a slice of jalapeno.

To get warm, we played touch football, a sport where collisions seem to be the most frequent form of touch. The end zones were professionally demarcated by two sandals, a full beer bottle and a "Dodger blue" baseball cap that looked very purple. I should note that our team won 21-14, not that we were keeping score or anything.

Tired of football, we turned to volleyball. I don't know what it is about playing on grass, but I end up doing things I shouldn't, like trying to prevent high velocity volleyballs from touching the turf by agilely leaping after them.

The instant I see the ball coming down, I forget I'm not Superman or capable of leaping agilely. By the time my feet get the memo, it's too late. They've already launched me horizontally into the air on a possible collision course with the ball. Halfway through the dive, I suddenly remember that there's a landing involved. I keep my eyes on the ball and attempt to ignore the impending impact. The volleyball bounces mere inches in front of my clasped, reaching hands and floats over me as I hit the ground and slide across the field in a daze. I finally come to a stop and pick myself up. Instead of seeing if my limbs are intact, I check my shirt for grass stains, dust myself off and blissfully stand poised for another stupid superhero move.

Wiped out from playing hard, we recuperated at the Starbucks in Cannery Row before ending our fun stay in Monterey and heading home.