May 2005 Archives

I've been stressing out lately. Feeling overwhelmed. It's funny because if I were to stop and think about it, there isn't much to be stressing out about. It's just life.

Stress is an enemy that finds its strength in my propensity for procrastination. Of course, my latest excuse for not addressing my procrastination is that I feel too overwhelmed to stop and take stock. Yes, I see the ridiculousness of it all and at some point (meaning today), I plan to stop whining and stalling and seriously tackle my to do list.

I feel like I'm in a bad television sketch. I'm the guy floundering in a body of water, splashing and flailing, yelling for help, claiming I'm drowning. The camera pulls back a little and one sees that the body of water is just a pool. It pulls back even further and one realizes that I'm a foot from the edge and next to a freckled kid who's treading water easily. He rolls his eyes and says, "Hey Mister, why don't you stop your wailing and grab the wall?"

I just feel like I've been running around constantly. This isn't a completely accurate feeling of course. Two days ago, I hardly moved a muscle as I camped out on the couch and watched the season finale of Lost. The only muscle moving was my finger on the remote. At every commercial, it would flip the channel to check the status of Ryan Seacrest's hair.

I suppose what I'm seeking is a sanctuary, somewhere where I can find some peace, separate myself from the world and get my act together. Television isn't a sanctuary; it's a distraction. This isn't to say that I don't enjoy it or find value in it, but sometimes, it isn't enough.

Ideally, one can find sanctuary within the confines of one's home. Sometimes I do. Sometimes, it just feels like there's something missing. It's incomplete. It's not yet everything I want it to be. It's coming along, but coming along slowly. I guess that's part of the reason for my unrest. I'm growing impatient with myself. I can see through my own excuses and I'm tired of them.

Well, isn't that wonderful? It all returns to procrastination. If I want some peace, the procrastinating has to stop.

Counting all the flowers
Waste the precious hours
I need to find some peace

All these problems on my mind
Make it hard for me to think
There is no way I can stop
My poor brain is gonna pop
And I don't have a purpose
Scattered on the surface
I need to find some peace

Like a door-to-door solicitor, a craving for mocha came knocking this morning. It had the most inconvenient timing considering that I was just finishing a cup of coffee. Before boarding the train, I ordered an Islander Mocha from the depot cafe. I admit, the name hooked me. Images of palm trees and sandy beaches floated across my mind. I half hoped the drink would come in a cup carved from a coconut. Unfortunately, the only thing coconut about it was the syrup they added. The drink itself was good, but some aloha spirit in its presentation would have created the right mood to enjoy it thoroughly.

Sorry. I got distracted there. I wanted to write about last night's American Idol. It was the big showdown between Bo and Carrie. Frankly, I was disappointed in both of them. The battle of the best seemed like a bust. I don't know if it was nerves or the lackluster originals they were singing, but neither of them sounded at the top of their game.

Back near the beginning, around 1995, when there were many Idol hopefuls, I used baseball references to talk about the various contestants. I'd like to go back to that as the season ends.

To me, Bo is a control pitcher. He's Greg Maddux. He doesn't have a ton of power, but he has command of the ball (or his voice in this case) and can throw it wherever he wants with consistency. Occasionally, even control pitchers miss their mark and he had a few notes out of the strike zone last night.

On the first song, "The Long Long Road", he had a struggle reaching the lower notes, but soon regained control and finished it solidly. He was also sporting the first decent pair of shades I've seen all season. On his last song, the horrible "Inside Your Heaven", he sang the heck out of it, but there was one part where he seemed to suffer from a bad case of lyrical amnesia and gas. For once, he actually made me cringe, which isn't like Bo at all. Only "Vehicle", the song in the middle, saved him.

Carrie is a power pitcher. For her, it's about putting as much velocity on the ball (or volume into her singing) as possible. She's Randy Johnson. The problem with fastball pitchers is that if they start running into trouble, the only solution they see is to throw harder. Carrie was all over the place with her vocals last night. Consequently, she was practically yelling in parts.

During her rendition of "Inside Your Heaven", she was completely off-key and sounded like Kermit the Frog a few times. On "Independence Day", her best song, she sounded like she was always a half note above where she was supposed to be. You could hear the strain in her voice and see it in her face as she attempted to sing louder. It was a disaster. She seemed to recover somewhat on the last song, "Angels Brought Me Here", but it was only temporary. After a few lines, it seemed like somebody hijacked her voice and made her sing a completely different song while the band played on.

The judges heaped praise upon both finalists. Most of the positive remarks stemmed from memories of past performances. The most worrisome comment came when Simon told Carrie that he thought she had done enough to win the competition. I didn't get it. I began to wonder if he and I were listening to the same people singing.

I'm hopeful Bo will become the next Idol, but I have this feeling that Carrie will pull off an upset and take the title instead. It would be disappointing, but not devastating. If she won, Bo would become the next American Clay, a runner-up who ends up overshadowing the winner, which isn't a bad deal at all.

This is a test of the One Key Off System.

Original Message:
Mmm... good coffee!

OKOS Message:
Nnn... fiis xiddww!

This completes the test of the OKOS. Thank you.

My keyboard sits on a tray that remains partially hidden under the desk, so I can't actually see what I'm typing. It never really affected me before, but lately, I've been off by a key pretty regularly. Either I'm sitting a fraction to the left or the keyboard has shifted slightly to the right. I'm not sure. Whatever the case may be, the result is complete gibberish. Okay, that was politically incorrect. The Gibberese probably didn't appreciate that statement. Let me rephrase. The result is utter nonsense. "Have a nice day" becomes "GVW buxw Sy", which spell check transforms into "Vow buxom sigh". Not exactly the message I intended to send. Anyhow, I hope the problem corrects itself soon.

By the way, xiddww is pronounced zid-wa and I could use another cup of it.

Baseball is all about repetition and variation. A baseball game is essentially a series of three hundred pitches or so. With each one, the primary pieces start anew. The pitcher takes the mound. The catcher gives the sign. The batter steps into the box. It's done over and over again. If each iteration were the same and produced the same result, it might grow boring, but it's the minor variations that make the game beautiful. Different batters, different pitchers, different men on base, different possibilities. With each pitch, a stitch is sewn. Over a season, patterns develop and stories of individuals and teams and legacies and dynasties are woven together. Baseball has a balance of order and chaos, skill and chance, repetition and variation. It's a wondrous thing to watch and another reason why I love the game.

When I'm up with the sunrise
I want more than just blue skies
I want more than just okay

I open my eyes and another day is under way. I can't stop staring at the sky. It's as though Thomas Kinkade painted the clouds this morning. They're aglow.

If there was a map of life, I'd unfold it, circle the places I wanted to visit, highlight the most scenic route, call up that somebody and say, "Would you like to take a road trip with me?"

The temptation to see The Movie on the day of its release grows stronger. A midnight screening seems less ridiculous by the hour. Of course, the prospect of having to get up early for work the next morning will likely prevent me from being impulsive. Besides, my lightsaber won't be fully charged by then.

Last night's season finale of The Bachelor was disappointing. The latest bachelor presented the final woman with a "promise" ring and the line, "I'll be the best boyfriend ever." The lack of commitment confuzzled me. I thought the original concept behind the show was for the man to end up on bended knee, hold out a ginormous diamond ring and propose. Perhaps they should just change the name to The Boyfriend next season.

I've been listening to Weezer's latest album almost every day since it came out last week. "Beverly Hills" is the single on the radio, but it isn't my favorite track. That honor currently goes to "Perfect Situation", a song that just happens to have a baseball reference.

What's the deal with my brain?
Why am I so obviously insane?
In a perfect situation,
I let love down the drain
There's the pitch, slow and straight
All I have to do is swing
And I'm a hero
But I'm a zero

Thanks to a little comment coaxing from fling, I've decided to give the Punchbowl Meme a go. It asks that you write a four-line poem where the first and third lines read "Turd in a punchbowl". The second and fourth lines can be about anything, but they must rhyme. Here is my attempt...

Turd in a punchbowl
One cup won't make you sick
Turd in a punchbowl
But two might do the trick

Turd in a punchbowl
With three you're on a roll
Turd in a punchbowl
If barfing is your goal

Can't you just see this on a bathroom plaque (in somebody else's house)? The words would be in cursive and there would be an illustration with puffy clouds, blue sky, a bird and a punchbowl.

I wrote this Tuesday morning.

The train came late this morning. We stood on the platform and waited for its headlights to appear on the horizon. Seven o'clock came and we waited. Five minutes passed and businesspeople were setting their cups of coffee on the ground and scrounging through their briefcases for the printed schedule. The more industrious and impatient ones called associates already onboard to find out what was going on.

An extremely serious fellow, who had steel gray hair and wore a pinstriped suit, exclaimed into his phone, "An hour late?!" He clapped the phone shut, snatched up his briefcase and said to the world in general, "Great! I'm screwed! I have to drive to work!" He then stomped off to his vehicle.

A few seconds later, a woman pointed down the track and asked a young looking executive, "Wait. Aren't those the headlights way down there?" In perfect unison, everyone turned and craned their necks to see.

"That's them," replied the executive. The headlights slowly grew into a train that crawled into the station five minutes later. With a sense of relief, everybody boarded, even Mr. Pinstripes, who had stormed off the platform earlier.

Of course, he's probably regretting that decision now. The train has been rolling at a snail's pace ever since we left. We arrived at the next station 25 minutes late. My station is still three stops away. At this rate, I'll be getting to work an hour later than usual.

Train delays bring out the worst in commuters. It's so unusual to see them being rude or venting to one another. Of course, I'm the same, but instead of venting to those around me, I'm expressing my frustration here. Thankfully, late trains are the exception and not the rule.

I am in such a writing funk. I feel the need to break out of this rut or routine. It's as if my creativity has been sitting in the sun too long. It's beginning to fade and peel. I need to add some pizzazz to my vocabulary and add some variety to my sentence structures. I need to use a different set of writing muscles. It's like physical activity, everyone knows that the same muscles used repetitively have a tendency to tighten up, increasing the chance of injury. I need to do some stretching exercises before I strain something. Is there such a thing as cross-training for writing?

To ensure that I write some sort of American Idol recap this week, I'm writing this semi-live, almost as it's going on. The credits just ran and Ryan is introducing himself and the three judges. Everybody is showing Paula lots of extra love. It makes me feel all warm and nauseated inside. Corey who?

In the red room, Ryan, wearing his albino suit, reveals the themes: "Songs of Philadelphia" (a.k.a. "Songs by Gamble & Huff") and "Songs of Nashville". A country theme? I can't imagine who (coughCarriecough) that would be geared for.

She is up first and singing the Dixie Chick's "Sin Wagon". She certainly seems in her element, much more so than last week. Like Randy, I can hear this song on her future country album, but it wouldn't be enough to make me buy it. This was her genre, her strength, and she didn't miss.

Bo is taking on some Travis Tritt. Some very slow, very mellow Tritt. If someone could break Bo's habit of lugging around microphone stands, I'd be happier. The rest of him can stay the same, just lose the stand. Simon calls it a boring performance. I agree, but it's my kind of boring. The original version of "It's a Great Day to be Alive" is slightly more interesting.

Now we have Vonzell doing a Trisha Yearwood tune. I'm worried about this performance. She seems shaky and nervous and her pitch seems off, but her dress is rather nice. Great, I'm sounding like Paula. She's singing "How Do I Live", a song that both Trisha and LeAnn Rimes tackled. This wasn't very good at all. She needs a strong second song to stay in the competition.

Paula coaxes tears from Vonzell. I don't know the reason why, but she says she's been having a tough day. Instead of her usual giggles, she is crying. I wonder what happened. Oh, look, I have a whole commercial break to ponder.

We're back with Anthony. He's about to take on Lonestar's "I'm Already There". Harry Potter is wearing a denim jacket this week. He somehow pulls off a decent performance. I think it's because I've come to expect cheesy from him. Simon calls the song gooey and syrupy. It's actually one of my favorite syrup songs.

We're leaving Nashville and heading to Philadelphia for some tunes by Gamble and Huff, who just happen to be in the audience. Carrie will be singing "If You Don't Know Me By Now". She seems extremely uncomfortable and that makes me uncomfortable. Can it end already? This wasn't the right song for her at all. It's a mix of boring, wrong notes and more boring. Instead of blaming the performer, Simon blames the band. It wasn't the band.

Bo is singing "For the Love of Money", the theme from The Apprentice. He is now the one in his element. His second song is stronger and more memorable. The crowd goes wild. I think he made The Donald proud.

Vonzell is singing "Don't Leave Me This Way". She has regained her composure and looks at ease with this musical style. It was a great way to close her night. She rocked it. Okay, back in three and a half, semi-live.

Anthony is being a copycat and singing the same song as Carrie. What will that sound like? Will it be just as boring? Can Fedorov survive another insipid performance? He's singing. Okay, wow, from the first note, his rendition is ten times better. He's putting so much heart and personality into it. It's a completely different song. I don't want to say it, but I'm proud of him. He had two decent performances tonight.

I'm torn. By default, Bo and Vonzell are in my top two. I was all set to say so long to Anthony, but after tonight, I'm not opposed to seeing Carrie leave tomorrow. Ryan is signing off and so am I. That was my semi-live recap of Al. Now it's time to watch the season finale of Scrubs.

On Saturday morning (a week ago), we woke up early, grabbed coffee from the hotel and picked up pastries from Mendocino Bakery and Cafe. I had a delicious cinnamon twist. The other option was to purchase pastries from the cafe with a plasma television fish tank, but their merchandise didn't look very fresh.

I forgot to mention that on Friday, despite the weather, we treated ourselves to some scoops at Frankie's Ice Cream Cafe, a down-home ice creamery with mouthwatering flavors.

Anyway, back to Saturday, we drove to Point Cabrillo Lighthouse, which is a few miles north of Mendocino and off the same road as the Russian Gulch State Park. It would've been nice to visit the park, but muddy trails and possible showers kept us away.

On the bright side, we had more time to visit the lighthouse and explore the 270-acre preserve. The Point Cabrillo Lightkeepers Association recently restored the lighthouse, which is nearly 100-years old. Currently, the three keepers' houses are undergoing restoration. The largest of the three will become a bed and breakfast.

It's a half-mile hike to the lighthouse. The peaceful walk heightened the sense of seclusion that surrounded the structures. The clouds made the view from the bluffs even more dramatic and the patches of blue sky provided sharp contrast to their billowing white and gray masses.

Since the lighthouse wasn't open yet, we drove to Fort Bragg to see what was in the town of approximately 6,000 people. It was surprising to see how commercialized it was. It had a McDonalds, Super 8, Safeway, Bank of America, Starbucks (where we stopped) and many other familiar names. Visiting Starbucks wasn't my proudest moment, but in the spirit of trying new things, I had a cup of Komodo Dragon Blend, one of the chain's recent releases.

On the way back to Mendocino, we stopped by the lighthouse one more time to take a look inside. We also explored one of the lightkeeper's houses. Once we got back, we took a stroll through Mendocino Headlands State Park, which borders the town on three sides. The land here doesn't gradually slope down to the ocean, but drops off in sheer cliffs. In certain areas, the waves have carved their way through the soil walls, creating tunnels and arches. The whole scene was quite amazing. It was also intensely cold and windy.

For dinner, we bounced back to Fort Bragg to try The Restaurant. As one enters through the double doors, one door has "The Rest" and the other has "aurant" written on it. As one leaves, they read "The Rest" and "of the World". I found that amusing. The food itself was decent. I had the clam chowder and the pork medallions with asparagus and potatoes.

Afterwards, we returned to the hotel, sat by the fireplace in the lobby and eventually retired for the night. And that pretty much sums up Saturday in Mendocino.

A few minutes ago, the train pulled into a station. I was looking out the window, observing the long line of commuters filing off the train. It was like watching a human stream. Newspaper stands, ticket machines and garbage cans lined its shores as it flowed towards the sea of civilization beyond.

On one of its banks, there was a blue, 16-ounce beer can. Apparently, train platforms make good drinking spots. Like real streams that find the path of least resistance, this one conveniently meandered around the aluminum obstruction. Most people didn't even seem to notice the can as they passed or if they did, they simply ignored it.

Almost everybody had trickled out when one woman, a nurse with a floral-patterned scrub top and purple pants, left the flow and picked it up. She emptied the beer onto a patch of barren dirt, crushed the can and tossed it into a recycling receptacle before rejoining the stream.

Watching that brightened this otherwise rainy and gloomy Cinco de Mayo. Happy Triple 05!

As with most trails in the valley, the Coyote Creek Parkway has a mountain lion warning. The display has photos and descriptions of the cat, a map showing their habitat and a picture of their tracks (along with bobcat and coyote prints). It also gives "practical" advice about what to do should the hapless reader come across a mountain lion. One has to assume (and hope (and maybe pray)) that whoever provided the survival tips doesn't have a nickname like "Stubs" or "One-Eyed Mary".

The times we've been on the trail, we've been lucky enough never to meet a mountain lion. Once, we heard rustling and saw movement in the brush, but we made some noise, kept moving and lived long enough not to find out what was hiding.

We've encountered plenty of other wildlife while out there. Once, we spotted a giant owl perched in a tree at dusk. On several occasions, we've seen squirrels, including one that must've thought we were stalking it. And on every trip, we've encountered thousands of gnats that like to swarm at mouth level.

Late Saturday afternoon, as we were jogging back to the trail head, we came across a bobcat. From a distance, it looked like a regular housecat, but as we got closer, we started noticing minor differences. Few cats have golden fur with spots or sheen. It was also a bit bigger than your typical tabby and moved with more grace and confidence.

We were on a long, straight stretch of the paved bike path. The cat was coming towards us on the right side of the trail. We were still a hundred yards away when M posed the question that needed to be asked, "What should we do?"

The mountain lion display flashed across my brain, but all I could see were the photos, map and tracks. All of the words were fuzzy, but as far as I could remember, it never mentioned anything about bobcats.

Knowing my luck, the very tricks that would save someone from a mountain lion would be the same ones that would make someone instant bobcat bait. With that in mind, all I could offer up was, "Don't stop. Let's keep moving." M agreed, but also suggested that we avoid making eye contact with it, lest we inadvertently threaten or provoke it.

The distance separating us shrank swiftly. We were all keeping a steady pace. I glanced at the bobcat's ears and wondered what it was thinking. I bet it was trying to recall the display that it once read about what to do when encountering humans. It probably said, "Don’t stop. Keep moving. Don't make eye contact."

I held my breath as we went by each other. The bobcat was almost off the trail to the right. We were almost off the trail to the left. Once we passed, we didn't change pace, but continued putting one foot in front of the other. We kept our voices calm and conversational and didn't check behind us until we were a good hundred yards beyond the cat. Only then did I exhale and look back.

Now, if this were an exciting story, I would've looked back and seen the bobcat leaping at my throat, a blur of fur, fangs and claws. Unfortunately (or fortunately), this is a piece of nonfiction, so all I saw was the bobcat's rear end in the distance as it sauntered down the trail.

To summarize, we encountered a bobcat, nothing happened and we all lived happily ever after. The end.

Yesterday, my allergies attacked and caught me completely off-guard. I was sneezing and sniffling up a storm. For some relief, I took an antihistamine, but it was as effective as a York Peppermint Patty (without the minty goodness).

The longer I was in the office, the worse it got. It became clear that the only way to alleviate the symptoms, short of going home for the day or relocating my cubicle outside, was to find a wrench and give my nose a good 180-degree turn.

I could only imagine how annoyed my coworkers were with me. Many of them, I'm sure, were thinking up creative and painful ways to put me of my (and their) misery.

All day, all I wanted to do was tilt my head back, recline and sleep. The cubicle hardly seemed like an appropriate place for snoozing, so at lunch, I wandered over to Circle of Palms to soak up some sun. The extra Vitamin C was enough to get me through the rest of the day, functioning in a fog, but at least alive.

The workday eventually ended. The light rail was standing room only, which meant vertical napping. I was able to close my eyes on the bus for a while, but didn't allow myself to drift off too deeply. I wasn't in the mood to miss my stop.

By the time I got home, the couch was looking irresistible. I changed into sweats, took another peppermint patty and collapsed on the cushions.

Today, my allergies seem to be under control. No sneezing. No sniffling. I'm keeping up with the medication just to keep my nose in line and the symptoms at bay. It's simply isn't fun when allergies attack.