Recently in birdwalking Category
(The Story Behind the Picture)
Once upon a time (or just the other day), I had gotten home from work and was feeling thirsty. The day had been a scorcher, so something cold sounded enticing. I went to the fridge and spotted five bottles of Vitamin Water on the bottom shelf; each bottle a different flavor.
"Which one would M be least likely to drink?" I wondered aloud. "She obviously wouldn't drink something that tasted like raspberry and apple."
I grabbed the one called Defense and chugged it.
Five minutes later, M came home and saw the empty bottle.
"Aww man! That was the only flavor I wanted," she groaned.
"It was?" I said, shocked. "I'm sorry. I'll go to the store and get, like, seventeen of them to replace it."
I don't know why I said seventeen. The number just dropped into my head like one of those number balls the state uses for its lottery drawings.
"Sure you will," she said as she turned and walked away. Incredulous barely begins to describe her tone.
It was the tone that sealed the deal. I suddenly had a mission.
The next day, I ransacked every grocery store in a two-mile radius and temporarily wiped out the town's supply of Vitamin Water Defense. (The supply has been replenished by now, I'm sure.)
When M got home, she was shocked, but impressed by the stockpile.
And we lived happily ever after (which is roughly two months in the real world).
Moral of the story: When randomly picking numbers, stick with single digits. It's more believable and less costly.
Last Fourth of July, I was hiking to the top of Clouds Rest in Yosemite. Unless somebody cancels their reservations in the next few hours, I probably won't be repeating that feat (or visiting the park) this Independence Day, which bums me out because I've been aching to wander through Yosemite's high country.
It has been three months since our last visit -- 95 days for those who prefer greater precision (I would state it in hours, but I can't cater to everybody's needs). What has sustained me while we've been away (and will keep me going until we return) are the virtual visits I've made.
- Jeppmet over on Flickr has posted a gorgeous photo set from a visit he made in May. It includes stunning shots of Yosemite Falls, Half Dome, El Capitan, and the Merced River.
- One of the valley's residents, Edie (a.k.a. Ambitious Wench), always posts fabulous photos on Flickr, including this recent one of a hazy Half Dome...
- Thanks to a recent entry on Yosemite Blog, I discovered the paintings of Penny Otwell. This is one of my favorites. It's called "The Giant Stairwell".
You can see more of her paintings on her blog, in her online gallery, and on the Yosemite Artists site.
With any luck, I'll be tromping around Yosemite soon, but in the meantime, the only visits I'll be making will be virtual in nature.
(or, What Do These Three Items Have In Common? Hawaii.)
1. Last week, while on my usual morning break, I discovered Maui Wowi's downtown location had closed. At first, I thought I was on the wrong street, but careful inspection of the adjacent businesses told me otherwise. I peered through the glass, past my reflection (with its dismayed expression), and saw the interior had been gutted. All that remained were the brightly colored walls. I turned away with a sigh and moped all the way to the end of the block, contemplating where I could get the coconut mocha I was suddenly craving. (And to think, the place had only opened 18 months ago.)
2. Last night, I was feeling in the mood for some kalua pork and cabbage for dinner, so I hopped over to the new Ono Hawaiian BBQ in town. It has only been open three months, but if my counting is correct, last night was Visit No. 6. Besides the pork, I'm a sucker for the loco moco and the mahi mahi. It's also where I get my spam musubi fix. As far as I'm concerned, it's the only good thing that came from the arrival of the big-box shopping center on the edge of town.
3. To kick John Mayer's tunes out of my head, I've been listening to an unhealthy amount of Jason Mraz's music. (Imagine a dozen tiny Mrazs wailing on a half-dozen tiny Mayers, and you'll have an accurate picture of what has been transpiring in my mind.)
His latest single, "I'm Yours", is saturating mainstream radio at the moment, unfortunately. If I had my way, every station would only be allowed to play it once a day, so everybody could actually enjoy it.
While I like the upbeat, yet soothing vibe of the song, I like it more when it's accompanied by the video, which was filmed on the islands of Hawaii.
It brings a smile to my face every time I watch it. And from now on, whenever I hear that song, I going to be thinking of Hawaii.
By the way, today is Bland Blog Entry Title Day.
---
On the bus ride home yesterday, I kept thinking about how cool it would be to have a bus exchange program. The local transit authority could send part of its fleet to major cities across the country and would receive an eclectic fleet in return. It could be fun riding buses from New York City, Chicago, Seattle, Honolulu, San Antonio, or Philadelphia. Instead of the typical inside advertisements, signs would highlight each location's history, culture, and attractions. If the program was a success, it could go global. It would be inspiring to see buses from Beijing, Berlin, Madrid, Quebec City, and other international cities on the streets of Santa Clara County.
---
From the bus station, I made a quick stop at the local grocery to pick up coffee filters. (We had run out the day before, but I didn't realize it until yesterday morning and had to resort to using paper towels as a substitute filter. Ugh!) As I was leaving, I paused in the mostly empty parking lot to admire El Toro to the west and the ridges to the east, with their upper halves hidden by smoke. For whatever reason, the sight of them made me say to no one in particular, "I will never live in a town bigger than this ever again."
I've lived most of my life in San Jose, a city of more than 900,000 people, and Morgan Hill, a big town of 35,000. I stood there and dreamed about where I wanted to live next (the key word being "dreamed"). It would be in a smaller town. On the edge of a smaller town, to be more accurate, and it would be a place with land. I've never lived on a lot larger than an eighth of an acre. Two acres would be nice. I envisioned a small home (with a wraparound porch) on a big lot. That's as far as I got before I remembered where I was and how strange I must have looked standing in the parking lot.
---
I've been watching the first season of Angel on Hulu (before Gunn or Fred joined the cast). I forgot how much I liked the show. I was particularly fond of the theme music, which I would describe as cello rock. If I remember correctly, they tried to spruce up the song in later seasons, but I liked the original version best.
Today is Day 4 of my grand experiment to eliminate the last remnants of driving from my weekday commute.
It was easy eradicating the biggest part -- the part involving the freeway. "Let's see, 35 minutes of stressful driving plus a gallon of gas that could be better used driving to a park for an enjoyable day of hiking? Or 30 minutes on the bus. Gosh, I just don't know."
It was also easy doing away with the bit between the bus station and the office. It's amazing how a lack of options simplifies decision-making. "I don't have a car or bicycle, and knocking that kid off his skateboard without suffering severe repercussions seems unlikely. That leaves my feet. I guess I'm walking."
The last (and hardest) part has been letting go of the idea that I need to drive from home to the bus station. "It's only a mile," I tell myself. "If I don't drive, I'll miss the bus. Besides, I'll need the car afterwards to grab groceries or drop by the library or [insert emergency errand of the moment]."
Two recent developments have led me to renew my efforts for a car-free commute.
First, the surging price of gas. The local gas station is now selling regular unleaded for $4.379 a gallon. Three weeks ago (the last time I filled up), it was a measly $3.819. (At its current rate, unleaded should hit the $4.999 mark by mid-July.) One week of not driving to and from the bus station means ten miles saved. Assuming my car gets 22 in-town miles to the gallon, the it's-only-a-mile mentality costs me $2 a week, or the price of a venti coffee at my favorite corporate cafe.
Second, there has been a recent rash of cars with smashed windows at the bus station parking lot and neighboring Gilroy has seen a recent rise in gas theft. My theory is if it's happening in the next town, it's likely happening in my town, too. I also prefer windows that aren't smashed. ("Bug splattered, not shattered" would be a motto of mine if I were the type of person who had mottoes.) Keeping the car at home seems like a smarter and safer choice.
So far, the experiment has been a success. I wake up five minutes earlier and make a concerted effort to get out of the house five minutes earlier so I don't have to run to catch the bus. As a hidden bonus, I get an extra twenty minutes of exercise every day. We'll have to see how this experiment goes when I'm faced with hot weather or rain.
The next experiment will be to run in-town errands without driving (unless absolutely necessary). Trader Joe's and the library (two of my frequent stops) are only 1.5 miles away and their respective routes have sufficient bike lanes. My backpack has ample carrying capacity and I finally have a bike lock, so, technically, I have no excuse not to try cycling to both locations.
But I think I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's see if I can get my car-free commute streak into double-digits first. Then I can look at expanding my car-free campaign. In the meantime, here's to Day 5 and that distant day when I lose count of the days.
One of my worst fears when visiting someplace new, especially someplace far away, is that I won't have enough time to see everything I want to see. It's a difficult fear to overcome. Even as I sit here writing this, I'm still struggling with it.
In my head, the struggle is between my inner child and inner parent. The child wants to see it all and see it all now. The child believes this will be his one and only opportunity. He believes missing a single sight, a single landmark, a single museum, will mean the end of the world.
If I stop for a second, I notice my inner child sounds eerily similar to how I sounded when I was six or seven, when I wanted the latest toy or game. "Everybody else has one. Why can't I?" I remember saying to my parents. Now that I'm an adult, that refrain has become, "Everybody else has been there and seen that. Why can't I?"
My inner parent sounds eerily similar to my dad when he had to deal with a younger me -- the way he stressed each word, emphasizing the fact that he was the voice of patience and reason. My dad's softer, calmer method of convincing me was always more effective than my mom's louder, more passionate plea to stop driving her up the wall with my whining.
My inner parent explains that even if I had more time, I still wouldn't be able to see everything. He gets sidetracked reiterating the concepts of limited resources and the importance of setting priorities. He finally gets back on course and promises there will be future opportunities. "If you like it as much as you think you will, you'll make it a priority to return." He throws in, for good measure, an adage along the lines of, "Be happy with what you have and make the most with what you've got."
After hearing that, a younger me would continue to fight, refusing to accept the reality of the situation, and making myself miserable to prove a point. An older me is more inclined to shuffle his feet and grudgingly accept the argument. They aren't the words I want to hear, but they are the ones I need to hear, even if it's only me talking to myself.
I don't know where he's walking from. I don't know where he's walking to. The only thing I know is when I take a certain light rail train to work, he and I cross paths some time during the sixty-second span known as 7:53 AM.
It wasn't something I noticed right away. That first day, many months ago, I only remember passing some guy with brown hair, a book bag, an iPod, and blue jeans as we walked to our respective destinations, and those details didn't stick in my head until we had passed each other three or four days in a row. (So, to be accurate, that first day, I only remember passing some guy.)
At the start of Week 2, I began to take note of the time:
- Monday - 7:53
- Tuesday - 7:53
- Wednesday - N/A (took bus)
- Thursday - 7:53
- Friday - 7:53
Indubitably, when we passed each other and I peered at my watch, the time would be 7:53.
This has now been going on for several months. It has begun to feel like something out of The Outer Limits. I'm tempted to stop him and ask him where he's heading or how he keeps such a consistent schedule, but I fear the reality his answers would reveal would pale next to the reality I have imagined, which is this...
He's a passport photo booth repairman.
Wait, that isn't it. It's this...
His name is Kyle McGillicuddy and he's a technical writer for a software company with office space overlooking Plaza de Cesar Chavez. He lives in a fourth-floor loft in one of downtown's many luxury apartment buildings. While it affords him a short fifteen-minute commute by foot, he can barely afford the lease, so he supplements his income by playing poker at Bay 101, a local card room, in the evenings.
So far, the supplementing hasn't been as successful as he would have liked, but he is optimistic he can continue to make a profit (however meager) as long as he stays focused and maintains discipline, not only at the card table, but in all aspects of his life, including his morning routine.
This is why he always wakes at exactly 7:15, showers for exactly five minutes and thirty seconds with the knob turned exactly 1.5 inches counterclockwise (the faucet is marked), shaves for exactly three minutes, brushes his teeth for two minutes, dresses in ninety seconds (clothes laid out the night before), drinks precisely nine ounces of coffee (black), eats half a cup of regular oatmeal (with one cup of milk and seven drops of honey), checks the weather and reads the New York Times online (two articles and one opinion piece), pours the remaining seven ounces of brewed coffee into a travel mug, grabs his book bag, puts his shoes on (right foot first), descends the stairs (left foot first starting each flight), reaches the street at 7:45, passes some strange guy (who wears a tan backpack and always checks his watch) at 7:53, and reaches his desk at exactly 8:00. It's a system that seems to have worked so far, so he sees no reason to change it.
For his sake, I hope he gets a raise soon so he won't have to rely on Lady Luck to put food on the table (or bring pizza to the door). Of course, once he stops playing poker, he will likely slack off and I'll no longer see Mr. 7:53 on my way to work. That will be a sad day, I'm sure. Until then, though, I'll keep an eye out for him, continue to check my watch (so I don't accidentally jinx him), and keep my mouth shut (to prevent pesky reality from butting in).
Since yesterday afternoon, my allergies have been out of control. My nose has been stuffed up and runny at the same time. My eyes have been itching and watering. It's been fun.
Only in the last hour has the medication and saline nasal spray started to have any noticeable effect. I now have the option to breathe through something other than my mouth and I can sit up without needing to have a tissue box within arm's reach.
I blame the whole thing on the pollen I was exposed to yesterday. I was in Carmel to support M and her teammates who were running a relay in the Big Sur Marathon. I spent a good deal of the morning in Marathon Village, which was really just a field of recently cut weeds, on the edge of the Crossroads Shopping Village.
I must have inhaled a nice quantity of dust and pollen as I visited the various booths and tents. I thought my regular allergy medicine would be enough to keep my allergies in check, but I was wrong.
By the time the team reunited just around noon, I was starting to feel the first symptoms (itchy eyes). The runny nose kicked in while we ate lunch at Chipotle in Monterey's Del Monte Center. By the time we were on the road, I had full blown symptoms and all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball on the couch, which I did as soon as I got home.
I was still feeling pretty bad this morning, but I took the day off to rest and it seems to be helping. I'm hoping hot tea, hot soup, and another good night of sleep will have me back on my feet and at a hundred percent tomorrow.
(Or, When Statistical Certainties Attack)
Yesterday, the media began reporting this fun doom-and-gloom fact:
In the next thirty years, California has a 99.7% chance of being shaken by an earthquake with a magnitude of 6.7 or greater.
Because I'm the worrying type, as soon as I got home, I made sure our emergency supplies were in order.
I had just finished putting away the last item when I stopped and said to the portrait of Charles Richter, anchored securely to the wall, "Wait a minute. What does that mean?"
Geologists, seismologists, and geophysicists are telling us that some time within the next 946,080,000 seconds (or so), a 15-second catastrophic seismic event is guaranteed to occur along one of the state's seven major fault lines. It's a statement that is equally certain and uncertain, specific and ambiguous, and therefore meaningless... mostly. It's news I can almost use.
Anyway, the headline made me wonder if I could produce similarly accurate and foreboding forecasts. If I had "complex analytical tools developed over many years and powerful new computer programs", I'm sure I could, but since I only have Microsoft Calculator, Version 5.1 (Build 2600 : Service Pack 2) on this computer, here's what I came up with:
- In the next thirty years, there's a 99.7% chance a major league pitcher will pitch a perfect game, which will subsequently be subjected to frame-by-frame analysis for any visible signs of cheating. After the post-game press conference, he will undergo several tests to determine if he took any human growth hormones. After a month, he'll be declared clean and free to celebrate his achievement.
- In the next ten years, there's a 99.7% chance Disney will further tarnish the reputation of its animated classics by making another sequel (oh, I can't wait to see Snow White IV when comes directly to DVD and Blu-ray). (p.s. RIP Ollie Johnston)
- In the next three years, there's a 99.7% chance Marshall will slap Barney silly on How I Met Your Mother. By then, the show will have jumped the shark and Britney Spears will be part of the cast (possibly as the mysterious mother).
- In the next four months, there's a 99.7% chance Clinton, McCain, or Obama will make a mistake the other two will latch onto and blow out of proportion. All three will also make appearances -- of equal length and awkwardness -- on an award show to prove they are "in touch" with the American public.
- In the next week, there's a 99.7% chance somebody on The Bachelor won't receive a rose and will have her dream of marrying a British gentleman dashed forever. By "forever", I mean until after the finale airs and she can resume her life in the real world.
Those are just a few disturbing predictions to ponder while we all wait for the big one to come, which it will... eventually.
Yesterday was one of those rare days when I actually drove to work. Thanks to a harebrained move, I'm hoping I won't have to drive in again for a while. You see, I accidentally triggered the car's cloaking device as I was leaving the office.
I know what you're thinking, "How could you possibly trigger it? It's such a tricky thing to do." And you're right, it is. For my car, one has to press the defrost button (accidentally) while the radio is tuned to 97.3 FM, the volume is set at level two, the gear is in drive, the left blinker is flashing, and the car is at a complete stop. At least I think that's how it's triggered. I must admit it has been some time since I read the manual.
Anyway, that was the exact condition of the car as I waited at the intersection to make a protected left turn onto one of downtown San Jose's many busy streets. The cloaking device must have been on and I have three irrefutable pieces of evidence to prove it.
1. As soon as the left turn light turned green, I entered the intersection. At that precise moment, three people (two teenagers and a businesswoman) started crossing the street against the light. I had to slam on the brakes, inches from the crosswalk, to avoid hitting them. None of them even looked my direction. None of them made any attempt to hurry out of the way.
2. After the trio cleared the lane, I finished my turn. Not more than a hundred yards later, a car parked at the curb attempted to pull out in front of me. I hit the brakes again, swerved to avoid a collision, and blasted the horn. The driver had a confused look on his face. At the time, I thought it was an idiotic look, but to be fair and in retrospect, it must have been a confused look. He was likely thinking, "Where is that honking coming from. I hear the horn, but where's the car?" As soon as I passed him, he pulled out, nearly clipping my rear bumper.
3. Ten seconds later, further down the same street, I approached another intersection. To my relief, the light was green. The coast seemed clear until I was within a hundred yards of the crosswalk. That's when a pedestrian started crossing the street from my right. I thought about honking the horn, but I was afraid he would freeze in the middle of the street. I slowed significantly, hoping he would clear the lane before I reached the intersection, but he made no attempt to move faster or get out of the way. He was so oblivious that I had to come to a full stop so he could cross safely. Like the previous pedestrians, he never glanced my way or made any indication that he was aware of my presence.
Shortly after these three incidents, all of which took place in the span of a minute, I somehow deactivated the cloaking device. I believe it happened when I changed the station to 102.1 FM and increased the volume to level four to help calm my nerves. From that point forward, pedestrians and other drivers seemed fully aware I was there.
Note to self: The next time a car salesman offers a deal on a Ford Taurus, Romulan Empire Edition, say no.
According to the Google Lat Long Blog (the official blog of Google Earth and Maps), one can now see Yosemite National Park in Street View. Besides covering the valley, they photographed Highway 140, Highway 120 (from just west of Crane Flat to Tioga Lake), Wawona Road (Hwy 41), and Glacier Point Road (stopping short of Badger Pass).
I did a some virtual sightseeing and here are eight Street View gems I found...
1. Half Dome
2. El Capitan
5. Tunnel View (with tourists)
6. The Tunnel
7. Tenaya Lake
8. Wawona Hotel
Admittedly, it doesn't beat visiting the place in person (like we did this weekend), but it works in a pinch (you know, when one just needs to get away, but can't actually get away).
Now that I think about it, I wonder how much trouble it would be to strap one of these Street View cameras to a hiker and have him or her climb Half Dome. If Google did that, tourists could virtually hike it from the comfort of their computers, thereby reducing the crowd of real people trying to reach the top.
I was randomly checking Caltrain's website and discovered a new page with links to train schedules designed specifically for mobile devices, including web-enabled phones and iPhones.
After stumbling upon the developer's blog for iCaltrain, I discovered (via a posted comment) an unofficial (and experimental) Caltrain rider alert service, which uses Twitter to notify riders about delays.
While I'm stoked to see ordinary folks have taken the initiative to create these apps and services, I'm disappointed Caltrain hasn't made a visible attempt to take the initiative themselves. I wonder if they have any intention of doing so in the future.
By the way, I found this sentence on the links page quite amusing...
Caltrain appreciates the efforts of these developers, who have created these applications of their own initiative, on their own time and expense, and who offer them to the public at no cost.
This entry is brought to you by a 30 mL dose of DayQuil. The cold that had been stalking me since Sunday, finally sprang on me yesterday, while I was at work. I went home and tried to knock it out with a nap and a bowl of pho, but it wasn't enough.
I should be resting at home, but the orange, syrupy medication tricked me into coming to work. It made the sneezing and coughing disappear and put an extra syrupy spring in my step. I felt so good, I said to myself, "A few hours at the office wouldn't do any harm."
Of course, now that I'm here, sitting in my cube, staring at this monitor, I regret saying that. I feel off. My ability to focus is fleeting, my head is swimming, and the urge to nap is overwhelming.
If I were smart, I would finish the must-do's on my list this morning and use some sick leave to recuperate this afternoon. I guess we'll see how smart I truly am in a few hours.
In the meantime, I wanted to share a bit of banter from last Monday's Scary Go Round. It made me laugh more than usual. The premise: Amy's antique shop has gone up in flames and her hero, Lovelace, has gone in to rescue one of the employees. Amy implores Ryan, her friend, who doesn't care for Lovelace, to help out...
Amy: Ryan, Lovelace has been in there too long, go in after him!
Ryan: Is this some sort of plan to incinerate everyone you know and start fresh? It ain't the case that the more people are in there, the less room there is for fire.
Amy: Please, Ryan! He's papery and dry, like tinder.
Ryan: I'll do it, but only out of respect for the elderly.
By the way, I'm still sorting through photos from a recent hike in Santa Teresa County Park and I hope to have them (and a snazzy trip report) posted soon.
(Or, I Think My Brain is Out to Get Me)
The following account is true, but the names have been changed for two reasons: my own amusement and common sense.
During my senior year in high school, I took auto shop as an elective course. After sixteen years, I don't recall much about it except that there were only three girls in the class. (They all sat in the back row.)
Now that you know that, let's play two scenarios.
First, let's have a random guy, say, Dennis Miller, approach me on the street...
Dennis Miller: Quick, name one of the three girls in your high school auto shop class.
Me: Jessica Alba.
Dennis Miller: That's correct.
Remember, fake names. Good, now let's have a random woman approach me while I'm volunteering at the Cinequest box office (like one did last night)...
Woman: Hi, two tickets to Oceania.
Me: That will be $20.
Woman: Okay. By the way, is your name David?
Me: (caught off guard) Uh, yes.
Woman: Do you remember me? We went to the same high school and had a couple of classes together.
Me: (stunned and scrambling) Jennifer?
Woman: Jessica.
Me: (attempting to recover) Lopez?
Woman: Alba.
Memories of her in auto shop came instantly and in high definition images and videos, but my brain decided to withhold that one critical piece of information: her name. Why it always does that, I'll never understand. It apparently spends its free time thinking of new and creative ways to embarrass me.
Today, it feels as though I've been bound by invisible rope or stuffed in a mummy sleeping bag a size too small. The funny thing is the more I struggle to free myself from it, the more anxious and constricted I feel. It's awful.
I blame the restlessness on the beautiful weather outside. It's perfect get-out-there-and-explore weather, but I'm unable to take advantage of it because I'm stuck inside the office (just like everybody else).
The dark clouds of yesterday sailed off in a storm of giggles overnight and the sun has been defiantly shining down on me all day. Every time I walk by the windows, I shake my fist at the sky and shout, "Where were you this weekend?!" The sun replies by glowing brighter and smirking.
For the most part, the rain kept me from venturing outside this weekend. I did manage to squeeze in a nice nine-mile bike ride on Saturday, during a short break in the precipitation, but it wasn't enough.
I long for a good hike. It has been nearly four weeks since my last trek. I'm to the point where I don't care if the trails are flooded or rain soaks me to the bone. I just want to be out somewhere in the woods or the mountains, far away from everything, just for a little while.
I'm resolved to hike someplace this weekend, come rain or shine (preferably shine, but I'm not going to nitpick). I hope the promise of adventure (with some much-needed patience thrown in) will be enough to calm this restless feeling and slacken these invisible ropes so I can survive the week.
Yesterday, it felt like I was in an action movie.
It started when I left work. I was two blocks from the light rail station, in downtown San Jose, when I saw the southbound train cross Santa Clara Street. On any other day, I would have let it go, but I was impatient to get home and didn't feel like waiting fifteen minutes in the cold for the next train. So I ran.
An observant person sipping coffee at the Starbucks on the corner of Santa Clara and Third would have seen a thin, dark-haired man in his thirties, wearing khakis, a heavy jacket, and a backpack bouncing on his back, sprinting down Santa Clara Street. If asked to describe the man's running style, the same observer might have said, "He ran like a drunken camel."
I slowed slightly as I approached Third Street because the intersection is notorious for red light runners, but resumed my dromedary-like gallop once I was sure it was safe.
Past Hank Coca's Furniture I went, then past Dive Bar, with its neat red and yellow neon sign showing a woman in a swimsuit and swim cap diving into an imaginary pool, and finally past Toons, the nightclub that sits on the corner of Second and Santa Clara.
The train was still at the station as I reached the platform, but the doors were already closing. I could have stuck my arm between the doors and triggered the safety mechanism that would have reopened them, but I hate it when other people do it, so I didn't.
A quick aside: I'll always remember the time when two teenagers held the train at the Ohlone-Chynoweth station for over a minute so their buddy could get on. One kept the doors from closing with his foot while the other kept sticking his head out and shouting, "Hurry up, man! Come on!" I think everybody onboard secretly hoped the doors would shut on the kid's neck.
Instead of obstructing the doors and earning the wrath of my fellow riders, I made eye contact with the driver in his side view mirror, hoping he might take pity on me and reopen the doors. What happened next is hard to describe because it happened so slowly and quickly at the same time.
For what felt like a minute, but was likely a few seconds, the driver and I looked right at each other. I'm pretty sure I had a pleading expression on my face. The driver's expression was what most people would call impassive. He simply stared at me, rang the bell signaling that the train was about to move, and then looked straight ahead as it pulled away from the platform.
It was one those oh-no-you-di'n't! moments.
At this point, most people would have given up, and under different circumstances, I would have, too, but now it was personal.
As the train started towards the Paseo de San Antonio station, I leapt across the tracks and sprinted down Second Street in pursuit.
Two observant guys drinking beer at Tres Amigos, near the corner of Second and San Antonio, would have seen a sweaty, dark-haired man, wearing khakis and a heavy jacket, running towards them and trying his best to get through the crowd that had just gotten off the train. In all likelihood, one of the guys would have said to the other, "Hey, Mike, five dollars says that idiot accidentally mows down the granny with the grocery cart." The other would have replied, "You mean the fool running like a wounded coyote? Deal."
It was thirty yards of insanity, but I somehow managed to spin and dodge everybody that crossed my path without losing too much ground. Luckily, just as I cleared the crowd, the train slowed next to Tres Amigos to let an oblivious pedestrian cross in front of it, the driver smiting the clueless soul with the full force of the train's horn. Thank goodness for oblivious pedestrians.
I was just reaching Tres Amigos myself when a woman in a motorized wheelchair pulled out in front of me. With the train on one side, the bar's patio tables on the other, and a tree and wheelchair in between them, there wasn't much room left on the sidewalk. There was a small opening to the woman's right I could have slipped through, but it was too narrow for my taste, so I put on the brakes.
By the time the woman got past the patio, the train was crossing San Antonio. From where I stood, it was only a hundred yards to the platform. It was now or never. One final sprint would get me on the train, so I went for it, or at least I tried to.
I had barely taken three steps when a bicyclist came barreling around the corner. Instinctively, I wheeled out of the way and avoided the collision. In an alternate universe, I yelled, "Bike lane, pal!" In that same universe, I was brutally bludgeoned to death with a bike. Oddly enough, I think if I had been walking, I wouldn't have been able to get out of the way in time.
Shaken, I regrouped and charged across San Antonio, quickly reaching the train as it pulled into the station. I jumped onto the platform, stopped short of the doors to let people off, took another second to regain my composure and what remained of my dignity, and got on the train.
If I had been more with it, or if this had been an actual action movie, I might have given the driver a knowing glance before boarding and yelled something macho and heroic like, "Yippee ki-yay, Mother Hubbard!" (That's a PG-rated imagination for you.) But since this was reality, all I did was quietly slip through the doors and plop down in an empty seat, exhausted from the effort.
As the doors closed, the man sitting across the aisle from me, an older businessman in gray suit and tan trench coat, smiled and said, "It took two stops, huh? Glad you made it."
It would never be a classic line in a movie, but it was good enough for me.
This morning, I finally got the chance to take Bus 168, the new express bus that runs between the Gilroy and San Jose Diridon Caltrain stations. VTA began operating the route on Monday. It's one of the many changes the agency recently made in an effort to improve its services.
I must admit that as I waited for the bus to arrive, I was shaking with giddy excitement. At least I think it was giddy excitement. It was a little difficult to tell with it being so cold outside.
Anyway, here are four reasons why I'm stoked about this new bus route.
- Cost. Instead of paying $5.75 one way on Caltrain or $4.00 on the San Jose Express, Bus 168 is free, thanks to my company's participation in the Eco Pass Program. If it didn't participate, the fare would be $3.50 one way, which would still be cheaper than driving because my car drinks just over a gallon of gas each way.
- Speed. By bus and light rail, my commute is 55 minutes. By car, it's 40 minutes. Taking the train reduces the trip time to 35 minutes, but the station is a mile from the office. The ride on Bus 168 is also 35 minutes, but it drops me off closer to work, which brings me to...
- Proximity. From home, the bus stop is less than a mile away, within easy walking distance. From work, the bus stop is only three blocks away. It's practically door-to-door service.
- Frequency. Unlike Caltrain, which runs three morning trains and three evening trains, with no rhyme or reason to their departure times, the VTA operates six buses each way. They run every thirty minutes, which gives potential riders a 2.5-hour commute window. For me, it will make getting to work early and leaving late very easy. Hmm... I'm suddenly feeling a little less stoked.
Add to this list the usual benefits of mass transit (less stress, better for the environment, more time to read or nap, etc.) and Bus 168 almost seems too good to be true. I hope it isn't. With any luck, enough people will ride it so the agency won't reduce service or discontinue it entirely when it makes its next round of changes and improvements.
This weekend, I
> hiked around Calero County Park. The recent rains made for messy trail conditions. By the time I finished my six-mile hike, my boots were five times heavier and I was three inches taller due to the dirt stuck to the soles. On the bright side, I now have enough soil to pot a plant. I also have a few photos that might be worth posting.
> biked along the Coyote Creek Parkway in Anderson Lake County Park. The nearly nine-mile trip wore me out. I blame it on the bike, which is new, inexperienced, and out of shape. It also has a bad attitude. The slightest hint of an uphill slope produced grumbling and whining. I even heard it swear under its breath once or twice. To teach it a lesson, I plan to ride it regularly until its attitude improves. (This is known as projecting, a proven technique for relieving aching legs.)
> finished reading my third book of the year. It was easy to accomplish since the first two books were by Terry Pratchett (Pyramids and Eric). Books well oiled with wit and humor make for quick reads. The third book was Blood Rites by Jim Butcher. What it lacked in laughs, it made up for with vampires.
> watched Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. The show premiered last night. I never was a fan of the Schwarzenegger trilogy, but I was curious to see how Summer Glau did as the new Terminator sent to protect John Connor. The last time I saw her, she was River on Firefly. In that show, she was all about emotions and huddling in corners. In this show, she's all about cold, blank stares and kicking butt everywhere she goes. I'll probably watch another episode or two, but I don't know if I can last an entire season. Shows featuring endless pursuits and constant violence are exhausting to watch.
> assembled the new Indiana Jones and the Lost Tomb LEGO set. It's silly, I know, but when I saw the box on the shelf, I couldn't resist it, especially after I saw the Indy minifigure included his trademark fedora, shoulder bag, and whip. To my credit, I didn't let my inner-ten-year-old run completely wild. I managed to postpone purchasing the most expensive set available (the $60 Temple Escape). I'm saving that as a resolution reward for later in the year. Of course, after I finished building the tomb, I had to watch Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark, the movie that inspired it all.
The rain arrived yesterday. If it had come by itself, I wouldn't have minded its company. Unfortunately, it came with a friend -- a blustery, seventy-mile-per-hour kind of friend.
Alone, rain isn't all that bad, once you get to know it. It can be comforting at times. But when it gets together with wind, it has tendency to act out, as if it's trying to prove it can be tough, too. It's as though rain is telling wind, "Oh, you blew over the man with the briefcase and nearly ripped the trench coat from his body, but that's nothing compared to the drenching I'm about to give him. He won't be dry for days."
When wind and rain get together, life becomes interesting (and drippy).
I'm not a fan of this wind. It's the type of wind that brings down trees and power lines and knocks out traffic signals. If the electricity doesn't fail today, I'll be surprised. Bookies in Las Vegas have probably already calculated the odds of an outage. My bet is on 3:55 PM.
It's the type of wind that wrecks umbrellas. In the sixty feet separating the train station from the bus stop, I saw two women fall victim to the gusts; their umbrellas shredded the moment they opened them. One attempted to throw hers away, but the garbage can was already filled with the tattered metal corpses of the weather's earlier victims.
It's the type of wind that blows so powerfully that the rain comes at you from every direction. Walking to work, I encountered an uppour and now my socks and shins are soaked.
Today is the kind of day that makes me grateful for mass transit, but worried about crossing the street. It's the kind of day that makes me wary of walking beneath construction cranes and heavy tree limbs. Today is the perfect stay-at-home-with-a-good-book-and-avoid-the-madness kind of day (and so will tomorrow and Sunday, according to the news).
I probably shouldn't complain about the wind and rain. We don't experience bad weather all that often here. Then again, one of the joys of bad weather is complaining. So, in a sense, I'm just making the most of a rare opportunity.
Wind, wind, go away,
But not you rain, you're okay.
Merry Christmas and have a safe and joyful holiday. I hope Santa Claus brought you everything on your wish list. If he didn't, it might help to add a few extra cookies to the plate and throw in a gift card from his favorite coffee shop for good measure next year. (I hear he has a soft spot for peppermint mochas.)
According to Yosemite Blog, Badger Pass is opening tomorrow, which is exciting news. It means when we visit the park in another two weeks, I'll be able to snowshoe and possibly try my hand (and feet) at cross-country skiing. (I imagine myself gliding gracefully across the snow, but my imagination has a tendency to edit out the parts involving tripping or tipping over.)
Before this current weather system, I had been worried the winter areas would still be closed during our stay. Now I'm just hoping the snow takes a short break as 2007 comes to a close, so I won't have to drive through bad weather to reach the park.
------
Russ, our local Winehiker, was recently featured on In Wine Country, a locally produced NBC show about the wine country lifestyle. Pretty awesome.
------
Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each.
With winter coming upon us this weekend, I found this quote by Henry David Thoreau uniquely appropriate.
------
To the pedestrian in downtown San Jose, who decided to ignore oncoming traffic and stop in the middle of the crosswalk to dial her cell phone: I hope you were calling the Wizard of Oz because you are in obvious need of a brain. Seriously?
------
Jonathan Coulton released "My Beige Bear" today. It's a brand new song about stuffed animals that's suitable for kids of all ages.
Mauve dog gets the bed just right
The pillow sinks down deep
Cream cow moos a soft good night
Now everyone's asleep
Indigo monkey's lying peacefully with arms around her
Next to a wise and kindly bear
My beige bear doesn't care that he's old
My beige bear still has four paws to hold
When it's dark and it's cold
I reach out for my beige bear
(Or, A Note About Stupidity from the Department of Tongues in Cheeks)
Each and every one of us has had a moment where we've said or done something dumb. It's called getting a case of the stupids.
After we've apologized and kicked ourselves and apologized some more and searched for a decent rock to hide under, most of us are left trying to figure out how to recover and resume being the highly intelligent, sophisticated, and above-average people we know ourselves to be. It can be a difficult process, which is why our department has created a list of 5 steps to help you through a case of the stupids.
- Admit your stupidity. To deny it is to deny a part of you. Any hope for recovery requires that you accept all of you, even the dumb parts.
- Embrace it. Once you acknowledge it, don't shun it; hold it close and cherish it. You never know, this might be a once in a lifetime opportunity to experience what it's truly like to be like everybody else.
- Wallow in it. Throw yourself a pity party, but make it quick. A streamer, a couple of balloons, and a freshly baked humble pie (with whipped cream) should do the trick. There's no need to invite anyone else.
- Learn from it. Use the party as a chance to improve yourself. Any case of the stupids that doesn't kill you, can only make you smarter. It might not prevent future stupidity, but take comfort in the fact that it will likely be a different variety of stupid.
- Let it go. Once you've learned your lesson, there's no reason to let it linger. Wish your stupidity well and send it on its way. Holding onto it won't help anybody.
Along with these 5 steps, here a few more tips to keep in mind...
- Stay away from others. Until you've finished the fifth step, you won't be pleasant to be around. Also, being around people not suffering from a case of the stupids will only make you feel worse, which could prevent you from recovering.
- Don't rush the steps. Depending on the severity of the case, the steps could take a matter of minutes or a matter of weeks. If you rush, you run the risk of a relapse.
- Don't try to fix it. What has been done can't be undone (at least until time machines are invented). In most cases, fixing only makes things worse.
- Know you're not alone. There are roughly six billion other people doing or saying something dumb (or maybe dumber) at this very moment.
- Know you're special. If the previous tip doesn't help, then take comfort in the fact that you are suffering from your own special strain of stupid and that makes you unique.
With these steps and tips, you have everything you need to get through your case of the stupids. If you follow them, you should be well on your way to recovery in no time.
This weekend, I
> watched the Sci Fi Channel's Tin Man online. It's a miniseries that takes L. Frank Baum's "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz" and gives it a modern science fiction twist. Unless you're a silver-slipper-wearing Ozophile or somebody who must watch every second of film featuring Zooey Deschanel, this is 6 hours of entertainment you can skip (4.5 hours without commercials).
Some of the re-imagined elements are clever (like Toto as a shapeshifter), but most are corny (like tattoos that transform into flying monkeys). Instead of Dorothy in Oz, we get DG in the O.Z. (and no, Mischa Barton does not play the Scarecrow).
For me, the most compelling character wasn't DG, but Wyatt Cain (played by Neal McDonough). He's a former policeman (or "tin man") who rebelled against the evil witch, was imprisoned in a metal suit by her henchmen, and forced to relive the moment when they took his family (his heart) from him for many years. After DG frees him, he sets out on a quest to exact revenge. Keeping that storyline and eliminating everything else would have made for fifteen minutes of worthwhile television.
> read Jim Butcher's Storm Front. Inspired by Ealasaid's praise for his books earlier this year (bottom half of the page) and needing a few "quick reads" to successfully reach my goal of 52 books in 52 weeks (7 books in 21 days is doable, right?), I began reading The Dresden Files.
Harry Dresden is a wizard struggling to make a living as a private investigator in Chicago. In the first book, while trying to help the police solve a supernatural murder case, he battles scorpions, a vampiress, a demon, and a black mage. He also tries to go out on a date. As expected, Dresden has more success battling than dating.
With one foot in fantasy and the other in mystery, Butcher combines to the two genres and creates a story that is exciting, well-paced, funny, and original. I'm already reading the second Dresden book and can't wait to see how the rest of the series unfolds.
> saw The Golden Compass. I went with high expectations and wasn't disappointed. Chris Weitz did a good job of adapting the first book in Philip Pullman's trilogy to the big screen. He managed to keep the film to a reasonable length (just under two hours) without losing the joy of the story (the mystery of Dust, the alethiometer, the Gyptians, and the armored polar bears). There were changes and omissions from the book, but they weren't as egregious as those I've seen in other recent adaptations.
The movie also benefited from an outstanding cast. Nicole Kidman and Daniel Craig were convincing as Mrs. Coulter and Lord Asrial. Sam Elliott was made to play the cowboy aeronaut, Lee Scoresby. But most of all, I couldn't get enough of Dakota Blue Richards as Lyra Belacqua. She came across as a smart, brave, clever, defiant, curious, and vulnerable young woman. In other words, she portrayed Lyra perfectly.
After I saw The Fellowship of the Ring, I left the theater wishing I could go back in and see the sequel. The Golden Compass gave me a similar feeling. Unfortunately, The Subtle Knife doesn't come out until 2009.
> sauntered around Calero County Park. Because of a late start on Sunday afternoon, I was only able to hike 3.6 miles of the full 6.2-mile loop suggested in the Healthy Trails brochure. I'll post a short report with a photo or two tonight. I hope to try the full hike (or a longer hike) at the end of the week.
For those of you needing something to lift your spirits today, here are three links to bring a little levity and laughter to your life. They have all been personally tested for humor content and quality.
First, John Ralston, the artist drawing a page of comics every day for a year (A Year in Comics), is finishing strong with a series called The House-Boy in the Sticks. Drawn in a distinctive, classic style on vintage paper, the strip follows the domestic adventures of the ever-suffering house-boy, Jack. It's brilliantly funny and imaginative. My favorite (so far) is "Furnace Me a Home".
Next, Jonathan Coulton recently released a French version of ""Re: Your Brains", a song about zombie coworkers (something everybody can relate to). It's called "Re: Vos Cerveaux". It might just be me, but I swear French zombies sound more cultured and refined than their English counterparts.
Finally, Ze Frank provides inspiration in his latest video about feeling uninspired. This one helped me through the last days of NaNoWriMo. Nothing motivates me like somebody coming right out and saying, "But, my God, we gotta keep on making stuff!"
I hope at least one brings a smile to your face. Happy Friday!
The holiday turkeys all across the country dread is finally here.
We are heading to Yosemite for a few days. I wonder if the village store will be open at 4 in the morning tomorrow.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Monday is a solicitor who knocks on your door late at night, rings the bell repeatedly, tries to peek through the front window, and says something like, "I know you're in there. I can hear your television and see you hiding behind the couch. You can't hide from my thermal infrared imager." Inevitably, the only way to make him go away is to open the door and endure his spiel -- all 24 hours of it. (If it helps, imagine Dwight Schrute as Monday.)
---
I don't usually watch football, but I saw last night's game between the Patriots and Bills. New England annihilated Buffalo 56-10. In seven possessions, Tom Brady produced seven touchdowns; Randy Moss scored four of them in the first half. It was a beautiful game. If some die-hard Patriots fans don't memorialize the team's performance with a poem, song, or YouTube video, I'll be surprised and very disappointed.
---
My site has the dubious distinction of being the first result people find when searching for the opposite of funny. The web is trying to tell me something, but I can't hear it over my own laughter.
---
Last night, I finished reading One Man's Wilderness: An Alaskan Odyssey, the book based on the journals that Richard Proenneke kept during the first sixteen months he spent building a cabin and living alone in Alaska. It was one of those books that I consciously tried to read slower, a difficult task since I couldn't stop turning pages to find out what he did next. If the copy I read didn't belong to the public library, I would happily add it to my own collection. I guess I'll just have to buy a copy (a hardbound edition, if possible).
There are a number of quotable passages from the book, but I'll leave you with one from the epilogue that expresses how I often feel...
"News never changes much. It's just the same things happening to different people. I would rather experience things happening to me than read about them happening to others. I am my own newspaper and my own radio. I honestly don't believe that man was meant to know everything going on in the world, all at the same time. A man turns on the TV and all those commentators bombard him with the local, the national and the international news. The newspapers do the same thing, and the poor guy with all of the immediate problems of his own life is burdened with those of the whole world."
One of my greatest fears is speaking in front of an audience, which is a subset of a greater fear: appearing stupid in public. A reader is probably thinking, "Wait, you do all types of things that make you appear stupid on your blog and it's public." And while you're right, dear reader, what you don't see is the fretting and hesitating and waffling that happens at my end before and after I post anything.
Before I post something, it's, "I bet they're going to think this is stupid. I shouldn't post this. This is boring. What am I doing?"
After I post something, it's, "That was stupid. They think it's stupid and boring. I should take it down before anyone sees it. What did I do?"
I mention all of this because of something that happened this morning. I know it's taboo to talk about work, so I'll try not to be too specific, but I will say that it was a most uncomfortable experience to be in front of a room of people watching and waiting while I tried to get a webinar up and running. It took every ounce of calm I had to get through the hour-long ordeal as technical support attempted to help me over the phone. It was like being the star of a badly written and poorly produced one-man show.
It was a nightmare. One of my greatest fears had been realized. People can tell me it wasn't my fault and there was nothing I could do, but it doesn't help. I felt stupid the entire time and I still feel stupid.
Right now, I wish I could escape to a park, any park, and hike until I forgot about this morning. Unfortunately, that isn't an option. In the meantime, do you think the Haitian from Heroes makes house calls?
I discovered this cool camping vignette over at The Brothers Brick.
It's a little known fact that LEGO people need to spend quality time outdoors, too. You can see more photos of the creation over at MOCpages.
p.s. This is my third post of the day, which now officially qualifies as procrastination. Back to writing my NaNo novel.
Amongst other things, I thought about...
> Starbucks - The Starbucks across from Camera 12 in downtown San Jose is closed for remodeling this week. One would think the closure of a single location wouldn't matter in a city cluttered with the coffee chain, but it matters if that location is at the center of one of the most heavily traveled areas in downtown. Besides being across from the movie theater, it's near two major hotels (the Fairmont and Montgomery), it's between two busy light rail stations, and it's along a pedestrian corridor used by university students. Of course, one of the reasons why the area is so heavily traveled is largely because of the Starbucks (it's the coffee equivalent of the chicken and the egg conundrum). It was disquieting to walk by it this morning without encountering the usual signs of life and bustle of activity. The emptiness was eerie. I'm not one who likes noise and crowds, but in some strange way, I miss it and can't wait for it to return.
> Sake - When I passed by Tengu Sushi, I flashed on Koji Sake Lounge over on First Street (it was like having my own Chuck moment). The place has been open for months (since May of this year) and I have yet to try it.
> Cream Puffs - A couple of new shops are opening near the university. One is a clothing store that looks like it's targeting the college crowd and the other is Beard Papa's, a chain store I've never heard of before today that is famous for its cream puffs. Apparently, it's big in Japan and has stores in a few major U.S. cities as well. I guess I'll be finding out why their cream puffs are so famous very soon.
> Leaf Blowers - Not only are leaf blowers noisy, they give off a nasty odor and blow dust and dirt into the air that stings the eyes and aggravates the allergies. When I walked by the gardener using his leaf blower this morning, I wanted to shout at him, "Get a broom!"
> The Office - I couldn't stop thinking about the hilarious remark Michael Scott (Steve Carell's character) made at the end of last week's episode of The Office. Sitting at his desk, after failing to survive a day alone in the woods, he says to the camera, "Man became civilized for a reason. He decided that he liked to have warmth, and clothing and television. And hamburgers. And to walk upright. And to have a soft futon at the end of the day. He didn't want to have to struggle to survive. I don't need the woods. I have a nice, wood desk. I don't need fresh air. Because I have the freshest air around. A/C. And I don't need wide open spaces. Check it out. [turns monitor with landscape wallpaper] I can also make it the sky." (Quote courtesy of The Office Quotes)