But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit, sin’ auld lang syne

New Haven. Spring 1995. Room 123 in the Kline Geology Lab. Reknowned professor Elisabeth Vrba lectures on Paleontology and Evolutionary Theory. I doze fitfully near the back of the darkened hall.

I trudged dutifully across campus for nearly every lecture, I listened, fascinated, scribbling notes with frantic intent. Yet inevitably within 15 minutes my eyelids would sag, my writing would become unintelligible as my pen left a series of parallel marks trailing off from half-formed words. I would shift in my seat and struggle to pay attention, fighting with all my willpower to remain aware and focussed, pinching my cheeks, tapping my foot, leaning forward. I'd guiltily calculate the tuition dollars that were uselessly dissolving away with my glazing vision and shot at an A. But it was hopeless.

The lecture would melt into the elaborate and ridiculous dreams from the grey area at the edge of oblivion, where tusked antelope roamed across my subconscious with herds of 3-toed horses who'd tell me of the wrinkled peas plucked by the titanothere which awaited me in Gould's rose garden while Mendel wrestled Lamarck amidst the precambrian muds. And in what seemed like mere moments, the lights would brighten, the reading assignments were being handed out, and I would close my notebook, rubbing my eyes and wondering what had just happened.

And so it was with 2006. I have just emerged from a dreamworld wormhole where the many things that have happened seem as though they may have not occured at all but for within the torporific haze of daydream. The lights are raised, people are collecting their things, 2007 has arrived, and my 2006 is littering the alley, scattering before the breeze.

So, here's to being enrolled in a new year. May the best of last year be the worst of the new; may it capture our attention, engage our imagination, thrill us, teach us; may it proceed at a comfortable pace; and may it be memorable beyond compare.

Oh, and...

Happy Birthday, Ms. Adams, Proph Prof Broc Doc!
Welcome to your early mid-thirties!

Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we

I've been listening to Christmas carols all day today and waxing nostalgic. I usually don't get too wrapped up in the holidays because I'm not religious and I go all humbuggery at the commercial buy-a-thon. Christmas sort of melted into the distance with the geographical miles between me and my family, and it's hard to conjure the spirit of the season when in the shadow of palm trees.

But this year was a little different for whatever reason. I actually enjoyed being out in the shoptastic masses, grinned at the whiff of woodsmoke on the cold breeze, and reveled in the unusual frosty air (well, low 40's, but still). And talking to the family back home several times over the past week and hearing about the crazy blizzard and snow drifts and treacherous driving and shoveling and the nephews home from school and hoping for Santa to bring them an air hockey table -- well, it made me miss home and the holidays of my youth.

And I'd forgotten how much I love Christmas carols. Seriously. Even the religious ones. They're all tied up with tangled ribbons of bygone Sunday school pageants, church ritual, family gatherings and gift unwrappings, tree decorating, grandma's house, stocking stuffers and twinkling lights of warmth and peace. The First Noel, We Three Kings, and O Holy Night can totally make me a weepy mess.

The greatest of all, though (not counting "What Do You Get a Wookie For Christmas When He Already Owns a Comb" from the Christmas in the Stars: Star Wars Christmas Album which I'm praying Dad still has on vinyl in his basement somewhere because that thing has got to be worth some money), will forever be John Denver and the Muppets, singing directly to me.

The season is upon us now,
a time for gifts and giving.
And as the year draws to its close,
I think about my living.
Christmas time when I was young,
the magic and the wonder.
But colors dull and candles dim
and dark my standing under.

Oh, little angel, shining light,
you’ve set my soul to dreaming.
You’ve given back my joy in life,
you filled me with new meaning.

A savior King was born that day,
a baby just like you.
And as the Magi came with gifts,
I come with my gift too.
That peace on earth fills up your time
and brotherhood surrounds you,
That you may know the warmth of love
and wrap it all around you.

It’s just a wish, a dream I’m told
from days when I was young,
Merry Christmas little Zachary, Merry Christmas everyone.
Merry Christmas little Zachary, Merry Christmas everyone.

I feel the Earth. Move. Under my feet

Huh. For a while this week I was relieved I was not trying to travel home for Christmas what with the 3-day closure of DIA, the thousands of strandings, and the tales of my family digging out from the Holiday Blizzard of '06. But now I'm not so sure...

This morning brought with it the third (third!) earthquake in less than 4 days. Yes, they've all been small -- minor really. But they've still made my apartment creak and shudder, rattling my shelves, windows and nerves. And weirdly, they've all been centered in the same spot on the Hayward Fault, directly beneath Berkeley on the other side of the Bay, maybe 12 miles away as the crow flies.

First was Wednesday evening just as we were leaving work. Then last night as I was sitting in my living room playing Guitar Hero -- until the couch abruptly lurched, that is. And now again this morning as I lounged in bed reading. Two 3.7s and a 3.5.

Are these little readjustments that are relieving some pressure along the fault and therefore decreasing the liklihood of a larger earthquake, or are they preliminary foreshocks, as it were, adding to the mounting strain and increasing the odds for the Big One? An occasional tremblor is interesting enough and to be expected in these parts, but given that I've just felt more in 63 hours than I had in the preceding two years, well, it makes one wonder. The Christmas Quake of '06 has a certain headline papery inevitability to it.

In any case, I'm getting dressed and going to replenish my water and canned-goods supply.

What a way to make a living

I'm not going to say a whole lot about work here because I suspect there are some folks from my office who have happened upon my blogosphere coordinates. Not that that's a problem, really, but it does force me to be clear which side of the line I'm on between non-specific venting and disparaging commentary. Because the latter is what has gotten some people into trouble in the past. Such as my roommate. Ostensibly.

Anyway, for the record, this is the former: general griping that we all do about our jobs because we'd frankly rather win the lotto and be sipping mimosas aboard our yacht on the way to Santorini than slugging grande non-fat no-whip mocha lattes while slumped over a keyboard.

It's been a long week, for a short week (we get Friday off! Hooray!). Because schedule was the primary driving factor over quality on a particular Dilbertesque project (into which I was thrust at the tail end with very little familiarity), we rolled into production some new software and systems this week - right before the holidays when everyone's gone and when it'd be very difficult to recover from potential problems. But whatever. The upshot was that I was at work until 3am this morning, and back at the office at 10am. And I'm tired.

I'm not sure what my point here was. I've gotten carried away thinking of sailing around the Mediterranean. Must remember to buy a lottery ticket tomorrow...

Pay it backward

I was at IKEA this weekend, which isn't terribly interesting in and of itself. Nor was the drive (in a City Carshare car) there or home. I don't often drive across the Bay Bridge to the East Bay, and today coming home was a good reminder why: the traffic at the toll booths! Ugh!

I also screwed up which lane to get in and had to cut over sort of late in the game, cutting off a lot of schlubs who'd already been in stop and go for a half mile. I felt really bad about it and was thrilled that a car paused to let me in -- not something I'm likely to have done were I in the other lane. So the karmic guilt kicked in and I suddenly decided I needed to do something nice in return.

Fortunately the opportunity was right there. I glanced in the rearview a few times and an unremarkable middle-aged couple in the pickup that let me in was still behind me. So I paid their bridge toll. It was only $3, but I was surprised how good it made me feel. And, though I sort of hoped it would be regarded as a mysterious random act of holiday season kindness, they swerved dangerously through traffic to catch up to me on the Bridge and wave and smile their frantic appreciation.

Too bad there's not a good reward system for thoughtful drivers -- it might reduce the number of jerkweeds on the road. But yay! Not everyone out there is a maniac.

Miracle on Lombard Street

I happened to look at my Driver's License a few weeks ago (it's surprising how rarely that happens for something I have on me at all times) and had a sudden panic attack -- it was set to expire on my birthday in January. Now, clearly that's a ways in the future but my horror didn't stem from the deadline so much as the realization I was going to have to deal with the DMV.

Oh that universally-hated level of hell that is the DMV, with its interminable queues, ESL-speaking clerks, and frustrations galore. I have painful memories of getting my CA license the first time when my WY one finally expired. It was 2001, I think -- at least that's what my old license says. There aren't too many Wyoming driver's licenses in the world, and I was disinclined to give up mine, though even I am a little surprised I was here for 4 1/2 years before giving in.

So at the DMV, due to a weird California rule requiring you to get a CA license within 10 days of moving here or getting a job, I had to lie first of all, and I'm a terrible liar. Thankfully I did not have to take the driving test back then, and I passed the written exam relatively easily. But there was also the issue of establishing my citizen status, since apparently a license from another state is not adequate, and my expired passport still had a photo of me as a 1st grader. Try explaining to a Russian woman that I'm really a US citizen despite my birth certificate being written in German, and that, since it wasn't stated anywhere that the State Department papers explaining this had to notorized or original, the copy I had ought to suffice because otherwise it'd be months before I could get an official copy through normal channels.

Anyhoodle, I didn't relish the thought of dealing with that place in any way, so I immediately went to the internet to figure out how to renew online or via mail. Frustratingly, it said I could renew online but only after they'd sent me an official registration number. But I could not request this number nor would they explain when it might be sent if it was to come at all.

Low and behold, last Monday my number arrived in the mail all on its own, so online I went. The process was as easy as confirming my address, entering the number, verifying nothing about my record, eyesight or medical history had changed, and hitting 'submit'. It made no claims about when my new license would arrive, leaving me to imagine the worst. And that was that.

I shit you not, my new license arrived today. Four days later! I'm stunned. Shocked. Awed, even. When doing it originally, it took over a month to arrive.

Also, it's good until frickin' 2012. !!! I mean, I've seen dates past 2009 in print before, but it all seems so far in the distant future as to not concern me much -- Arctic ice gone by 2040, people on the moon in 2020, Bay Bridge complete in 2013. Whatev. But shit, I'll have this same piece of plastic in 2012! 5 years doesn't seem like a long time, but damn does 2012 seem like forever from now. Yet it's not - it's right around the corner. Right there, in print, on my freshly-renewed pain-free driver's license.

Darlin' it's better down where it's wetter

Welp, it's that time of year again. The company holiday party was Friday night, so I dug out the suit and a fancy tie and joined in the milling about with a napkin of food in one hand and a weak drink in the other.

This year's shindig, like last year's, was only a few blocks from my apartment, which I always appreciate when it's time to stumble home. But unlike last year, I did not throw a pre-party get-together since my apartment's a mess and I've been knocked out the past two weeks by the plague that everyone seems to have (cough, wheeze). I'm feeling somewhat better, though, thanks for asking.

Anyway, this year's party was at the aquarium down at Pier 39 on Fisherman's Wharf, which was pretty interesting. It pales in comparison to Monterey's aquarium (obviously), but was a fun place to hold a party, what with the drinking while sharks swim overhead, the dessert tray nearly falling into the ray petting tank, and such. I'll admit it was a little weird, however, to be staring at the crustacean tank while chowing down on crabcakes.

Also, the rainy season has kicked into high gear, so despite the ginormous umbrella, by the time we finally found the proper entrance, we basically looked as though we'd been in one of the exhibits.

The thing is, this was my 9th office holiday party. Ok, actually I missed 3 in there for various reasons, so it was really only the 6th that I attended, but still. The last 3 years I've had a suicide pact of sorts with a coworker who has been along the entire ride with me, where we both committed to not being around come the next party, or else. This year he finally ditched the party, if not the company, so I'm still alive. But I'm telling y'all this right now - if this time next year I even have the option of attending the same company's soirée, kill me. Just shoot me in the head, dead.

Ticking away the moments

I've reached a milestone today and I'm not sure what to do about it. Do I celebrate or quietly weep?

You see, as of today, I have been drawing breath for 12,000 days, no shit. The sun is sinking on my 12,000th day in this existence, and what have I got to show for it? Well, I'm sitting on my bed trying to decide if I should finally shower today or if maybe a nap is the best way to put off doing my laundry.

Dude. 12,000 is a lot of days. Seriously.

Sometimes I wish I was wrong

Well, as best as I can tell, nothing has been touched in the kitchen. 24 hours later and the piece of turkey is still sitting out, the oven door is open, and the remains of the glass pan still litter the area. And I'm pretty sure neither of them went to work today, though they're not here now. The hell?

I'd be laughing if it hadn't belonged to me

Last night as I was sitting peacefully in the common room, actively ignoring my deteriorating health (welcome to cold & flu season, cough wheeze) and knitting*, there was a sudden huge and unpleasant boom, crash and tinkling in the kitchen. After a few minutes, my roommate (we'll call him "J") came in and explained.

Apparently, his girlfriend (whom we'll call "T" and also lives with us) wanted him to cook this chunk of turkey for her. It seems they have an arrangement where he does all the cooking and she complains about the dishes. Anyway, we're out of butter which he usually uses liberally in his cooking, but there was some urgency to the turkey-cooking which precluded him from running out to get more. So the turkey was roasting away in 11x9 glass pan which is more for, say, brownies than it is for roasting. But I digress. So he was checking the bird and decided he would use a little milk to help brown the bird since, as he pointed out again, we were out of butter and couldn't do things the way he wanted to. Of course, the pouring of cold milk from the fridge onto a hot bird in a glass pan is not the best of ideas, which he learned when the glass exploded, spraying the oven, part of the kitchen, and J with chunks and shards of glass, as well as hot turkey juice and grease.

Being short on patience and already frustrated, this sent him over the edge, which is to say that he had to walk away, leaving the mess to cool with his temper, and describing the situation to me in the context of his puzzlement that T was now frustrated with him for not finishing the bird.

I relay all this to you as the latest example of the dysfunction in their relationship, as well as to mourn the loss of my brownie pan. And, to express my own annoyance that the kitchen was in the exact same state this morning as I left for work, complete with a now-room-temperature hunk of turkey flesh laying on top of the stove.

Any guesses as to whether it will be cleaned up when I get home tonight?

*I'll save this footnote for a full post in the near future.

Even pearls are dark

Because my company is in the advertising business, we tend to come by lots of new products as samples, for video shoots, and the like. Periodically, when the store room is full, there will be a frenzied give-away free-for-all which has provided me with everything from cookie dough to Rolaids chews, Strawberry Mini Wheats to toothbrushes, detergent to battery-operated razors. I haven't had to buy shampoo in years. Not all the products are so great, but I try not to look a gift horse in the mouth, as it were.

I mention this merely because, a year or two ago, I tried bleaching my teeth with one of the new teeth-whitening strips of the variety you're supposed to slap on and wear for a while each day. I honestly haven't given any real thought to bleaching my teeth before, but ended up with this product because it was free. Sort of like how I ended up with the car wax, even though I don't have an automobile. Anyway, it was a short-lived bleaching attempt because I was unable to keep the damn thing on my teeth for more than ten minutes before the mind-numbing pain shooting through my teeth and resonating in my skull became too much to bear. Not exactly root-canal exposed-nerve sort of pain, but more hot/cold-sensitivity teeth-about-to-shatter pain. Clearly the peroxide bleach thing is not for me.

It occurred to me today, however, as I was washing down my beet salad with some pomegranate-blueberry juice, that perhaps it's time to revisit this and look into the whole laser/light variety of whitening procedures...

Where you're terrific, if you're even good

Ok, I'm done traveling for the immediate future. I've flown enough this past year that I seem to have gotten past my landing anxieties (at least in part). There were the two trips home, the work trip to the Carolinas, the college reunion back east, the Labor Day trip to KC MO, L.A., and... where was that other place? Oh that's right, Hawaii. Sure, sure, I've made no progress on my international destination list (New Zealand, Antarctica, Australia, Argentina, Peru, Nepal, China, Mongolia, Japan, Iceland, France, Norway, Switzerland, Croatia, Turkey, Tanzania, Madagascar, Malawi, Mauritius, the Seychelles, India, Indonesia... to name a few), but I have yet to win that damn lottery. Or hook a wealthy man.
Anyway, I digress.

So L.A. for Thanksgiving! Until I visit, it's easy to forget how much I like L.A., as different as it is from S.F. Dinner was terrific, as was the company of Jen's welcoming friends. The rest of the weekend was spent chillaxin', watching tv in our pajamas and eating cake and pie (curse you, House of Pies, in all your banana creamed glory!), though we did venture forth amongst the masses to fill ourselves with the frenzied 4-weeks 'til Christmas spirit of the season. Alas, I did not use my camera, nor cross-post, so this paragraph is all you'll get till the DVDs are compiled and released in a few years once all the music rights to my memories are obtained. Rose, always a pleasure! I'll see you at New Year's!

The flight home was a fitting way to end my year's travels: chaos. Never have I seen so many people crowding the airport gates. While check-in and security were no problem, the overbookings, smaller plane exchanges, and weather delays meant I sat in the fetal position on the floor forever, trying not to be trampled, draining my cell phone playing sudoku. That's enough of that. Until I go snowboarding in Colorado with the fam in Feb, of course (yay!).


...My god. I used 'chillaxin' in a sentence. You have my permission to smack me.

...Or the turkey gets it....

Happy Thanksgiving y'all! Hope everyone enjoys lots of food, family, friends, and whatever else makes this the best holiday ever.

I'm off to LA. Maybe if you're lucky, you'll get a little Electric Mayhem crossover blogisode.

Trees of green, red roses too

Where to begin, where to begin...
I'm back from Hawaii, and it was exceptional. It's been on my destination list for a long long time, so even I am a little surprised it all came together so quickly and so well. Thank you Zoe, for planting the seeds over Labor Day, and for being a terrific travel partner!

Sadly, I've only ever taken one other vacation to a tropical destination (and as great as Puerto Vallarta was, it's got nothing on Hawaii); most of my time off is burned in less glamorous places. I was, therefore, quite excited, though not entirely prepared.

First, the Big Island is BIG. I mean, I knew it was bigger than the others combined and that it takes a couple hours to drive around, and that it has 5 main volcanoes, two of which top out over 13,600 feet, but still I was taken aback by the sheer bigness. Second, it's warm and muggy. Obviously, right? But when you're used to sweaters and heat lamps year 'round, it's pretty novel to be in flipflops and short sleeves after dark. Also, ocean water is salty. Well duh. And warm! So clearly I'm never in the icy waters of NorCal, and it was a revelation to be in the bathtub blue there, swimming, kayaking, snorkeling (gasping, choking), body surfing.

The trip in brief: Landed in Hilo. Swooned over the blue-eyed Brazilian "Paulo" at the car rental counter. Drove off in our banana-yellow Jeep Wrangler Sport, winding our way up the spectacular (!!) Hamakua Coast. Hit the fog at nightfall in Waimea but found our way to the hotel in Kona. Barely squeaked into the restaurant reservations and got a little lost getting back from dinner. Went to Wal-mart. Sunscreen. Lay on the beach, pet sea turtles, explored the Kona coast. Ate cinnamon buns the size of my head. Sunscreen. Kayaked into a sea cave and had an entire bay to our snorkeling selves. Drove back across desolate lava fields, ate local ice cream in Hawi, checked into our B&B on the slopes of Kohala. Sunscreen. Lay on the beach, swam. Looked out over the stunning Pololu Valley (trails down in closed due to the earthquake), drove (top down!) the mountain road to ranch country, failed to find internet cafe. Sunscreen. Drove Saddle Road between the volcanoes back to Hilo. Shopped, walked to waterfalls. Fish tacos. Went to Volcanoes National Park, hiked, dined, dropped. Doorless helicopter tour of the volcanoes. Sunscreen. Hiked across the floor of a huge crater, trailblazed across the floor of the caldera. Turned off our headlamps at the back of a long and deserted lava tube. Sunscreen. Hiked and explored the remainder of the crater trails, saw nene, hiked to petroglyphs, hiked across frozen lava flows into the dark to see red hot lava pouring into the steaming surf. Knit.

And just like that, the week was over and I was back at work almost as though it had never happened, with hardly a tan to show for it, what with all the sunscreen.

I ku ka makemake e hele mai, hele no me ka malo`elo`e

I had the best of intentions of getting two more posts in this week before saying farewell for another week (one post about that Haggard fellow and one about the elections), but those will have to wait. For you see, as usual when I travel, things have come down to the last minute and gotten crazy busy and I'll be up late packing and take too much stuff, none of which will actually be weather appropriate, and there will be things left unfinished and I'll be stressed until I throw my stuff down in the hotel room.

Which, in this case, will be tomorrow evening in Kona on the Big Island of Hawaii.

Aloha, y'all! I'll be back in a week.

Louise, no matter what happens, I'm glad I came with you

Two things:

1) I just got back from my five-year-ish physical, and I'm in good health! My cholesterol is low, my blood pressure is low, my blood sugar is in the right place, etc., etc. So, weird maxillary pain aside, I've got nothing to worry about. I can go on eating bacon to my heart's content. You know, for now.

2) Just before I went to the doctor, I dumped my sister off at the airport. She was only here for the weekend so it was too-quick a trip, but I was sad to go back to the apartment without her. I miss her! And we had fun while she was here.

I mean, we both missed the boys, of course, but it was also the first time just the two of us got to hang out for any extended period in roughly 10 years, I think. So we could stay up late, sleep in late, skip meals if we felt like it, eat sushi, linger over brunch, go shopping, spend the afternoon museum-hopping... all without interruption, complaint, or naptime. So we did!

We also went to see Chicago (the musical), and, best of all, drove through the Wine Country on a glorious autumn Sunday with the top down in our Dollar-rent-a-car convertible-for-the-price-of-an-economy-class lucky mistake. I could definitely get used to that.

Anyway, a number of people during the weekend commented how nice it was to see siblings out together having fun, as though it were an unusual thing. I mean, I know we haven't always gotten along perfectly, but that was just part of growing up under the same roof sharing space, attention, the bathroom, and not sharing all the same tastes, opinions, inclinations, perceived opportunities. Whatever animosity we might have felt towards each other when we were younger has largely dissipated as adults. And I guess I find it hard to believe that that's terribly rare.

In any case, yay! Here's to health and family!

It's not a contest, but...

Ok, in truth, it was not raining cats and dogs when I posted the previous entry. It was raining, but not terribly hard. It's just that it was only the second time it's rained since last spring, so I was still enjoying the surprise of water falling from the sky. The picture, of course, had nothing to do with anything. I don't even know the story behind it. It's a photo that is in a frame at a co-worker's desk (an actual photo, mind you, on photo paper - not a magazine cutout or new frame insert). And because I crack up every time I see it, I took a photo of the photo so I'd have a copy of my own. So if anyone comes up with the story behind the photo (actual or fictional), pass it along. The winner of this non-contest will get their very own copy.

Cats & Dogs

It's raining!

Trick or treat

The kids were out in force this evening as I walked home from work, and many of them were costumed in terrific disguises. But what's with all the lazy jokers wearing street clothes and carrying a plastic grocery bag? So what if you put a little glitter in your hair, what kind of costume is that? It isn't just free candy night, people, you're supposed to hold up your end of the bargain and at least try to put some effort into it. If trick-or-treaters actually came to my doorstep, the ones without a detectable costume wouldn't be getting any of my candy, that's for sure. Little moochers.

In other news, I went out amongst the hordes in the Castro tonight. That'll be the last time I do that. 100,000 drunken people in disguise jamming the streets with other rowdy revelers just isn't as much fun as it used to be. It took me over an hour just to catch a cab home. Although it could've been worse since at least I narrowly avoided getting shot, I guess.

I sound like an old coot, but what ever happened to the good ol' days of homemade costumes, popcorn balls, and peaceful drunken revelry?