Obliquity of the Ecliptic

17 years ago (sweet merciful crap) this evening, I watched the sun set behind the Snowy Range from atop a pile of boulders at Vedauwoo. I remember this particular evening because I had sepnt the day chasing a careening hubcap that flew off into the prairie, trying to ditch one of the annoying kids that always seemed to glom on to me, and scrambling over rocks with a gaggle of new friends from nerd camp. Leaning back against the cool rough granite in the fading light, already late for curfew I'm sure, the last car load of us watched the stars emerge from beneath the twilight wedge, opening up about ourselves and cementing bonds while a meteor shot across the sky.

Time passes, impossibilities of youth become certainties of adulthood while possibilities are never realized, and people fade away. Two exceptions remain solidly part of my life, however, not just as acquaintances but as fast friends. And that night also began a little personal tradition I've upheld all these years as a sort of private commemoration of all that is beautiful and good and true and dear.

As the year's longest day comes to an end, I seek out someplace special from where to watch the sun disappear beneath the trailing edge of the planet. It's just a thing I do. I've been thwarted only a few times by circumstances or clouds, but only a few. It's become sort of a solitary thing for me -- a time to reflect and ponder in beautiful solitude -- though that not a necessity.

So tonight, as it happens, I was joined by my roommates, which is noteworthy because after almost two years, this was the first time just the three of us have ever done something together outside of the apartment. I scooped them up and drove to the coast where the flanks of Mt Tamalpais meet the pounding surf.

And despite the distractions (including a very random half-naked male model emerging from the brush), the fog held back, the earth kept turning, the sun sank behind the hills in blaze of color, the heavens became visible, and the planet's axis began its inexorable shift back in the other direction.

Tomorrow will already be 1 second shorter than today and I have so much left undone.

Afternoon Delight

There are many things to love about this city (I know I never stop yapping about where I live, but I drank the Kool-Aid a long time ago; I can't stop myself). Among those things is the steady stream of neighborhood festivals and street fairs and events up until the coldest weeks of summer in July and August, and the resumption of them in the warm weeks of September and October.

It starts with the Union Street Fair the first weekend in June, followed the next weekend by the Haight Street Fair, then the North Beach Festival, Gay Pride, the Fillmore Jazz Festival, and so on. Basically the neighborhood streets get blocked off, bookended by stages for live music and lined with tents and stands filled with typical fair fare: jewelry, artwork/photography, crafts, clothing, non-profit organizations, fried food, and food on a stick. On top of that baseline is the unique flavor of each area: the Haight has more tie-dye and water pipes, North Beach has its pizza tosses and the Blessing of the Animals in front of the city's namesake shrine to St Francis of Assisi, and so on.

It seems they've gotten more crowded in recent years, but that could be my reduced tolerance of the writhing masses. The deep-fried artichoke hearts, however, more than make up for it. And the fact that I can wander just a few blocks from my apartment to indulge all my senses in the warm and sunny music-filled smoky air, and take refuge again when I've had my fill of the hordes certainly doesn't hurt.

Well isn't that special

Incidentally, for those of you reading this thing via Internet Explorer, it's not supposed to look like this. All the posts are supposed to be centered between the two sidebars, not thrown below them all jankety like. It didn't used to do that, so I don't know what the scoop is, but I don't have it in me to go editing the template again. My HTML skills are rudimentary at best. If I cared enough, I'd probably upgrade to Blogger's new fancy templates, anyway, but I haven't figured out how to upgrade and still have both a left and a right sidebar. So you're left with this.

I actually just noticed this recently because I usually am using Mozilla Firefox. And everything looks grand using that browser. Not that I'm one to get snippety about how much Microsoft sucks, or anything. I just happen to prefer something else.

So that's that. Do what you will, and think what you like... just know that I don't intend for my blog to look as crummy as it might happen to.

Hard against the wind

I'm a rockhound, of sorts. I can't help it. I come by it honestly, at least: my dad would bring home interesting stones or pieces of turquoise or arrowheads he'd spot from the cab of the tractor as he plowed the fields; my mom still sticks her hands into the frigid pools of mountain streams to fish out shiny or unusual rocks; my mother's father collected interesting rocks and stones to cut and polish and turn into lovely jewelry. I grew up not half a mile from a large gravel pit where we'd all happily while away the time searching for (and finding) petrified wood, moss agates, and the occasional geode or mastodon tooth.

The result of this, aside from my Geology degree, is that I have a hefty rock collection of my own, comprised of interesting stones from all the places I've been since college. If and when I finally move, my honest answer to the inevitable question, "what on earth is in those boxes, rocks?" will be, "why yes, actually."

I'd frankly like to do something with some of these rocks, rather than have them all just sit around and collect dust (dusting them is a pain, by the way), but in an apartment setting my rock tumbler is too loud and obnoxious to run 24/7 for the several weeks required, especially given that I can hear my downstairs neighbor snoring on quiet evenings. And many other of my crafty visions won't be realized until I own a garage or other workshop space.

One thing I can do in my apartment, though, is convert a few of them from one useless dust-collecting object sitting around taking up space to a slightly different useless dust-collecting object taking up even more space. The result of my first such attempt is shown here (with one of my less-interesting rocks). I dig doing this sort of thing, but I'm not sure what good comes of it.

Maybe it's the pain meds talking

I'm totally still crushing on Paul Rudd all these years after "Clueless" when my passive obsession began (can you believe that movie is 12 years old?! Jebus, I'm old. Even weirder and not at all related: the Goo Goo Dolls have been around for over 20 years. Do you ever feel like you're in some crazy time warp and the next time you step outside and round the bend you may see the Statue of Liberty half buried. Damn you all to hell!!).

Anyway, I just saw him as a guest on "The Daily Show" and also watched "Knocked Up" -- which, while not a bigscreen necessity was still absolutely worth the $10 ticket price. He's still adorable and charming and funny.

That's all I have to say, really. Just thought I'd share. I'm only filling up space since I don't have much else to relate just now.

Dental Drama Redux

It is a positively lovely day outside as best I can tell through my apartment windows, but I will not be going out to relish it. Quite by design, in fact, I intend to spend the entire day in my T-shirt and pajama bottoms, sitting on the couch playing videogames. There will be other lovely days; this is California, afterall.

This is due to the fact that on Thursday afternoon, the oral surgeon peeled back my gums and drilled into upper left jawbone, "amputating" the root tip of my devil tooth, and removing a chunk of infected bone tissue that connected to my sinus cavity. This sounds much more horrific that the actual experience was, it turns out. The notable exception was the singularly unpleasant realization that, as they rinsed my mouth, it was draining down the back of my throat though the hole in my sinus cavity.

I was, in fact, much less unconscious than I had expected to be, and I remember the majority of the procedure. Not that I was feeling any pain, but still. I was going to ask that they up the sedative coursing into my veins please, but kept thinking perhaps the amnesia would set in later. It never did.

At any rate, given the row of stitches currently securing my cheek to my gums, I'm feeling quite alright today. The only reason I'm slumming it is because, if ever there was an excuse, this is it. Frankly I'm fine: I went to work yesterday, then went out for dinner (penne pasta with pancetta cream sauce!) and a movie (which, if you haven't seen Waitress yet, add it to your list! I had to hold the left side of my face to keep from popping stitches what with all the idiot grinning).

So anyway, almost 8 months, a CT scan, 4 rounds of various antibiotics, a re-treated root canal, and now an apicoectomy and several nosebleeds later, I still have the tooth in my head (or what's left of it). Here's hoping that in the next 6 months the bone surrounding it (and separating it from my sinus cavity) will be completely biomagically regenerated and all associated problems will be a thing of the past. And I guess it's still better than spending nearly $8 grand on an implant screwed into my maxilla.

At this point I'd almost have preferred a spider's egg sac in my sinus.

I want to ride it where I like

Quite a few years ago (nearly seven, to be exact), I took my relatively-new mountain bike out on a single-track trail with a good friend of mine, and rode about 3 miles over the hills towards the ocean without another person in sight before losing control and snapping something in my ankle.

My friend had ridden off up ahead of me so no one saw my ridiculous little maneuver that sent my body in one direction and my bike in the other... with my foot. I heard and felt the pop, and knew that something bad had just happened. It went from bad to worse, of course.

Since my friend never bothered to glance behind him to ensure I was following, some 15 minutes passed with me sitting helplessly beside the trail bleeding from my several wounds (including a doozy where the pedal spun around and punctured my shin), contemplating the possible scenarios involving manly park rangers and helicopter evacs. But when he finally doubled back to find me, he had the gall to actually yell at me angrily for wrecking the day.

So, I basically had no choice but to suck it up, limp and ride on my broken foot the 3 miles back to the car, by which time my left sock and shoe were completely blood-soaked and my right foot had swollen and turned a horrible purple color from toe to heel. Somewhere along that grueling ride back I got an apology, but honestly I'm not sure I've ever completely forgiven that friend. Sad, but true.

Anyway, I never went to the doctor for an x-ray since whatever ligament that snapped wasn't likely to get sewn back together, so I kept my foot up and on ice for two days, and hobbled around with an ankle brace for a month before I regained full range of motion. I've been on my bike many times since then, of course, but I've been a lot more cautious, certainly.

Sadly, no amount of caution can completely make up for the vast quantity of klutziness I possess.

Last weekend, being a glorious 3-day weekend, I revisited that very same trail in the heart of Point Reyes with a different friend, and we took our bikes out as far as the trail led. Nichole did amazing, I have to say, for her first trail ride; I can't say the same about me.

In my defense, I haven't been on my bike much in the last year, and I'd never been trail riding with my clipless pedals. So that will take some practice. I did come back all in one piece, though, with virtually no additional emotional scars. So, the new scabs and fading green contusions aside, I deem the recent adventure a rousing redemptive success.