More space junk

As one might expect, I was pretty stoked for tonight's big lunar eclipse. These things may be more common than solar eclipses, but they still don't roll around all that often. The next one, in fact, isn't until 2010. But I was still a little flabbergasted by a couple people at the office who apparently had never even thought about the workings of the solar system or ever bothered to look up and were just clueless. One person in particular managed to mix up the eclipse with the moon phases, not understanding that the moon must be full in order for it to be anywhere near Earth's shadow, and this person also asked me if it would be safe to look at, somehow confusing staring at the shaded moon with looking into the sun.

In any case, it was the first cloudless and rain-free day for several, so I had high hopes to get a good view of totality, with the moon hopefully a deep blood-red shade, lit only by the light of all the Earth's simultaneous sunsets and sunrises.

Alas, by the time I got home, the clouds had swept in to obscure the moonrise. Boooo! I spent an hour or so on the roof, with only an occasional glimpse through thin cloud cover. My camera was able to pick up more light than my eyes were, and with a long enough shutter speed even got Saturn and the star Regulus on either side of the moon through the orange clouds. Better than nothing I s'pose. Though I was pretty annoyed when the sky cleared completely after the moon emerged from shadow. Grr.

The clouds also prevented any sighting of possible debris reentry from the rogue US spy satellite that was shot down tonight by a navy missile 130 miles above the Pacific. Not that I know what the orbital track of said debris might have been, but you know, I guy can hope. I gotta say, I'm pretty impressed that the military can launch a missile that can, a mere 3 minutes later, intercept an object the size of a school bus traveling 17,000 mph.

Anyway, hope y'all had a better view of the moon than I did. And may your skies remain free of falling debris.

Teach a man to knit

I'm making progress whittling down the number of projects on the go. Zoe should be proud. It's been a year and a few months since she taught me the knitting basics (picture us sitting in the balmy breezeway of the Hilo airport, awaiting our flight to Honolulu, needles in hand and yarn in lap, knitting away), and I'm still at it. Not that I'm terribly good, nor particularly persistent, but I've certainly been practicing and learning new things.

Pictured is my most complicated project to date. Ok, fingerless mittens are not exactly gloves or a sweater, but hey, I said I wasn't that good. But there's a thumb gusset and braided cable knit, not to mention the color changes. I'm kind of proud of the outcome.

My friend Andrea was giving me a lot of good-natured shit about my knitting. She sits next to one of my more knitting-obsessed buddies at work, so every time I was over in her cube asking questions or showing off a project or ooh-ing over her latest yarn, Andrea would stand up and roll her eyes and point and laugh. So I made these for her to shut her up.

I wasn't so sure of the colors, but hilariously as I stepped into her cube I saw a pair of store-bought pink and brown striped fingerless gloves already sitting on her desk. Her girlfriend had bought them for her just yesterday. I didn't intend to upstage her girlfriend, but she likes my gift better. Heh. She can only wear them, however, on the condition that she quits with the pointing and laughing.

Just prisoners here, of our own device

Ahhh. The sky is clear and blue, the sun is shining brilliantly, the chill in the air is not of drafty winter but of breezy springtime. Somehow, despite the temperature being exactly the same as it was last month, a light jacket suffices today instead of layered sweaters and fleece and windstop nylon.

The sweetgum trees dividing Columbus Ave have just finally dropped the last of their fading crimson leaves, and already the twigs are bursting with little chartreuse glints, a sort of reverse origami unfolding into familiar star shapes. The puzzle-barked sycamores are also burgeoning with fuzzy fits of celadon on their extremities. And best of all, the cherry trees are in full bloom, filling the air with an amazing sweet smell and a confetti of pink petals.

It's February, people, and I must admit that I can barely remember the purpose or timing of Groundhog Day anymore when surrounded by things springing all around. I'm wearing shorts and filling my lungs with allergens and reaffirming my love for California.

I'm also going in to the office on a Saturday to do 5 hours of user testing on new ticket-tracking software. Which is somewhat less inspiring.
Poop.

How long will that last?

I'm remarkably bad at actively staying in touch with my friends, as basically everyone who reads this thing can attest. I don't know why that is exactly. I think a chunk of it is laziness or lethargy. Some of it is forgetfulness, distraction, and an insensibility to the warp-speed passage of time. A bit is also my introversion and insecurity, which is ridiculous I know, but true nonetheless. As much as I love and enjoy my friends, I'm no great lover of the phone or the thought of social settings, and while the actual call or night out is usually quite enjoyable, working up to it requires clambering over some deep inner obstacle that has always been there.

In any case, I just had a lovely evening with a couple old friends, one of whom I haven't seen in far too long, despite her regular visits to the City for work. My buddy Jeff has been crashing at my place for a week every month in his commute to work from Spokane, and his former roommate Colleen happened to have the night off from her job, so we all went out for drinks and dinner at the little Italian Trattoria up the street.

I won't bother going into all the history and crazy stories the three of us could tell -- many of which we retold ourselves over wine and tortellini. But it highlighted the importance of friendships, especially in the absence of family -- that crazy bond born of shared experience, be it good or bad, so rich and necessary. I'm vowing to make an effort to improve my friendship maintenance, lest my emotional well-being completely yellow, wither, curl and die like the neglected plant in the dark corner.

Little Chicken

Um... Yikes.
You're probably sick of me talking about stuff in the sky, but it's a long-standing fascination of mine, so you'll just have to cope. Or skip ahead.

The more stuff they look for out in the cold dark vastness beyond our paper-thin atmosphere, the more stuff they're finding. No secret there. And they're up to 927 known Potentially Hazardous Asteroids that they're tracking and which can come closer to Earth than 0.05 AU (Astronomical Units - the distance between Earth & the Sun), or roughly 20 times the distance between the Earth & Moon (LD). Which is admittedly still a long distance, except in the context of the vastness of the solar system.

In just the last 6 days, no fewer than 12 of these things have whizzed past the planet, all of them discovered only in the last month. Just yesterday, in fact, a new one, 2008CT1, was discovered... but only after it went sailing by, narrowly missing Earth by a mere 72,000 miles. That's less that a third of the distance to the Moon, people.

I find this alarming.

Now, I recognize that this particular close call was a relatively tiny object the size of a school bus or two, so it's understandable it wasn't seen sooner. And had it actually slammed into the planet, it likely would have exploded in the atmosphere in a fireball and littered a little patch of ocean with a few tiny fragments at worst. And I understand that the overall odds of anything big striking us are pretty miniscule. And there are lots of eyes and bits of software looking for these things.

But it's also been a long time since something hit us. Not that records are terribly good when it comes to this, since impact frequency is so low, the planet is mostly unpopulated, and written history so short. Barringer Crater in AZ is roughly 50,000 years old and is the largest recent crater by far. Henbury and Kaali crater fields in Autralia and Estonia are both around 5,000 years old. The Wabar craters of Saudi Arabia are perhaps only 150 years old and were created by an explosion equivalent to the bomb that leveled Hiroshima. The Tunguska Event in 1908, on the other hand, left no crater but instead flattened 830 square miles of forest as an object perhaps 60 meters across detonated in the atmosphere 3-6 miles above the Siberian taiga.

Guesses about how often these sorts of things occur vary widely. Which is why folks are scouting the skies, hoping for some advanced warning. It seems to me they've got some work to do yet.

Although, given that there's not much we could probably do about it were we to discover something coming at us at 50 miles per second, maybe it's better to not see the thing coming and remain in the dark...

A Super Tuesday

Change is in the air.

The atmosphere today was so clear it was almost as if there was none. The buildings of downtown stood crisp and vivid against the cerulean deep as candescent-rimmed silver halide clouds rolled across the middle distance. Every shadow was a razor's edge of contrast making the world look simultaneously both cutout and multidimensional.

The air made itself known, however, by the sharp scent of ozone and leftover rain, mingling with loamy spice of wet bark and earth. Half a block from my apartment stand two Victorian Box trees in perpetual blossom, whose riotous florid branches fill the air with a sublimely sweet honey orange perfume.

The world seems to be throwing off the chill winter dark and emerging into a brightly lit season of renewal, fresh hope and promise.

The perfect day, in fact, for an election.

So say we all

Was just reading up on the state of robotics technology and the latest biotech breakthroughs, and I was struck by a fascinating similarity. Humanity as a culture and as a species is on the cusp of something exhilaratingly terrifying, and as far as we know, unique in the history of the everything.

Robots have been around for a long time now and artificial intelligence has been imagined for far longer than it actually has seemed achievable. People have been heralding the imminent arrival of robotics and AI for some time now, but with the emergence of software and hardware capable of performing tasks once the sole domain of Homo sapiens, it seems certain that within the next 40 years there will exist human-level machine intelligence.

On the biological front, there's news this week that scientists have built from scratch a synthetic chromosome containing all the genetic material needed to produce a primitive bacterium. We're not talking about simply moving bits about from existing cells, but actually piecing together something new that has all the necessary bits to reproduce on its own once they surround it by cell.

So here's the thing...
No evidence to the contrary, life has only emerged once. Every single cell in each of our bodies -- like every living, dividing cell in every plant, animal, fungus, and bacteria -- can be traced backwards in a direct and unbroken line to the very first cell to split in two and start reproducing. Yet within a few years we will be witness to the start of an entirely new, man-made life form that will reproduce on its own and be the first link in a whole new chain -- something unprecedented and original under the sun with no ancestry save human ingenuity.

"Man-made" in this case is something of a misnomer, of course, because this feat is only possible using machines that can compute and assemble the most complex molecules ever created from scratch. As far as we know, we're the only intelligence to have ever evolved. But it's not a far leap for machines to become the second great intelligence to arise on Earth. Almost certainly within our lifetimes, something else new and unprecedented under the sun will be capable, perhaps, of pondering its own creation and creators.

Whether or not this ends badly in either case remains to be seen.

This Old Man, He Played 2 (x 17)

People have always said that time speeds by faster and faster the older you get, and it's definitely true. Somehow, I blinked and found myself 34 years old, which means I've basically lived more than a third of my life, if all goes well. Assuming, of course, that they don't unlock all of biology's secrets in the coming 60 years. Which actually could happen. I read somewhere that everyone alive today could be expected to live past 100 -- barring accident and disease -- given the inroads already being made.

Anyway.

I took the day off work yesterday, because, well, if a birthday isn't a good enough reason to avoid work, I don't what is. My company just began offering 2 floating holidays per year in addition to the regular PTO, so I used one of those days. I usually do something outdoorsy and solitary, but unfortunately the weather has been fairly uncooperative of late. Which I'm not really complaining about since the area can use all the precipitation it can get after last year's dry spell. But non-stop pouring rain makes hiking in the hills rather less appealing.

In fact, it was one of the rainiest days I can remember. A steady downpour continued without break the entire day, totaling 2.5 inches. I eventually had to leave the apartment and head downtown to meet my coworkers for happy hour, which they were throwing in my honour. I sort of had to show up, you know. Besides, even urban flood advisories are no excuse when drinks paid for by others are offered.

Another sign I'm old? The Irish pub was followed by a quiet Italian dinner with my friend Michelle, and I was home by 10pm.

One that won't keep me up all night

Like so many of my little crafty or creative projects, this whole knitting thing is getting out of hand. I somehow have, literally, 9 separate things I'm working on all at once, to the detriment of them all.

I tend to get excited about the next new thing before I've finished with the last old thing. But the new thing becomes another old thing once I've gotten past the newness of it. It's a bad habit.

Which is why I'm resolving to work on one thing at a time until I've finished each of the things currently in progress, and to not start anything new until they're all done, however much I'm itching to try my hand at another technique or play with a really great yarn.

Jesus I'm a nerd.

Anyway. This means I' have to finish some of the boring old things too, like the never ending scarves. But I'm already making progress! Witness the ribbed camouflage scarf I have just completed. Hooray!

I hope it won't hurt

Another person was killed by public transit yesterday. I say that like it happens with some regularity, which is probably not the case despite the headlines. And I wouldn't ordinarily mention it except that it totally freaked me out.

I didn't see the accident, mind you. I don't take the bus or Muni Metro light rail on a daily basis since I walk to and from work. But I do take it often enough to know how easily something like this could happen.

A number of months ago, for example, a man ran to catch the train and tried to squeeze in as the doors were closing... something we've all done at some point. But this time his arm was caught in the doors as they closed before he got inside. They're supposed to open again, of course, and the train operator is also supposed to look out the side mirrors to make sure people are clear before driving off. This man was lucky because the hysterical passengers inside the car managed to pull the emergency stop just before the train entered the tunnel.

Yesterday, though, the result was tragic and gruesome. Apparently a 40-year man was going to get on the N-Judah line out in the Sunset when he tripped as the door closed. He somehow became entangled and was dragged 3 blocks under the train before the driver became aware of the situation.

This was just a regular guy who started his day headed to work like the rest of us, and then this horrible thing happened and he was dead. It certainly makes one pause. I trip going down the stairs. I trip on the sidewalk. I've stepped into an intersection as some idiot taxi careens around the corner. Hell, I've been hit by a woman taking a left turn directly into me and hurling me onto the asphalt.

Any little thing could so easily turn into a tragedy if circumstances and timing were even slightly different, and often these things are largely out of our control. It's not something we think of very often because if we did, we'd never want to set foot outside of the house again.

Of course, then a chunk of satellite would crash into the apartment, or the building would collapse during the Big One.

The thing is, I guess, that it's just a dangerous world out there. Life is short, and you never know what's lying in wait around the corner. When your time is up, it's up, and in the meantime, we should just be living it up and soaking it in and enjoying every moment of it, because the next moment we might be a smear on the pavement.

Not so lonely out in space

Interesting goings on in the cosmic vicinity lately.

Comet 8P/Tuttle, made its closest approach to Earth recently, on January 1st coming within 24 million miles. It wasn't huge, but it was green, which is not something you see every day. Apparently the emerald color comes from cyanogen (CN, a poisonous gas) and diatomic carbon (C₂) present in the comet's atmosphere; both substances glow green when exposed to UV sunlight in the near vacuum of space. Conveniently it passed by one of the more photogenic galaxies in the night sky.

Comet 17P/Holmes, on the other hand, is gradually fading away and will soon fade into obscurity again, unless it explodes a second time, as it did in 1892 when it was discovered. It could happen. The explosion on October 23rd brightened it a million-fold in just a few days, to the point that it was visible to the naked eye, even in the light-polluted skies above my apartment. By October 28th, the cloud of debris around the comet was larger than Jupiter - and I don't mean to look at in the sky, but quite literally the comet was the largest thing in the solar system except the sun.

Speaking of the sun, January 4th saw the ringing in of the next solar cycle, heralded by the appearance of the first reversed-polarity sunspot. The solar minimum is officially over, so we've got about 5 1/2 years to work up to the next solar max. Bring on the auroras!

On December 18th, Mars made its closest approach to Earth for a while, coming within 55 million miles, and providing another launch window for probes, which include the NASA rover Phoenix, set to arrive in May.

Speaking of Mars, NASA scientists tracking asteroid 2007 WD5 now say that it will NOT hit Mars on January 30th. When it was discovered last month, astronomers said it was likely to strike the planet, but further observation and orbital calculations has dropped the probability of impact to approximately 0.01% or 1 in 10,000 odds, effectively ruling out the possible collision. I'll admit it, I'm a little disappointed.

And speaking of asteroids, on January 10th, asteroid 2005 WJ56 flew past Earth only 2.6 million miles away. The kilometer-wide space rock was close enough for amateur astronomers to photograph as it glided through the constellation Taurus.

And lastly, asteroid 2008 AF3 flys past Earth today only one lunar distance (240,000 miles) away. No chance of collision, and this rock is only about 27 meters across, but still. It was only discovered 3 days ago.

Scary.

It's a sad sad story

Here's something to add to the list of things I hate but am drawn to and then regret, like political discussions, marinated olives, or expensive porn:
The comment sections available below the article on so many websites.

I'm all for free speech and differing opinions, but letting any jackass with a keyboard they can half use weigh in anonymously whenever the heck they want... it never seems to ends well.

Just today, for example, I was reading a lovely little feel-good blurb about it snowing in Baghdad for the first time in living memory. Residents emerged in wonder having only ever read about snow or seen it in film, calling their friends and family members in joy and amazement. The guns fell silent for the few hours the dusting lasted. And had I stopped reading there, I would have smiled to myself and that would be that.

But of course my eyes wandered to the damned comment section. About 3 comments in, someone criticized the fluff piece - who cares about snow when people are dying? The fifth comment decried the hoax that is global warming, as proven by the snow. The eighth comment blamed the snow on Bush without irony. And somewhere in there was a profane generalization of Muslims. The next round of comments focused heavily on insulting all the previous commentators.

It was maddening, as it always is, and yet I couldn't pull myself away. My mind boggles at the vast volume of uninformed vitriol people happily spew. Beyond raising my blood pressure, I'm not sure what purpose is served in providing a forum for people to voice all these opinions when it almost always devolves quite rapidly into ignorant and hate-filled rant.

People suck.

And I without my picnic basket

It's a little eerie how these things happen. I don't even remember the context, but this past weekend on the phone with Jen Hen it came up that ants invade the front room of my apartment annually, like clockwork, in the late fall as the rainy season gets underway. Not the kitchen, where the actual food is (thankfully), but the barren living room which has nothing but hardwood floors, furniture, and potted plants. Which got me to thinking that I hadn't actually had this problem in more than a year.

Cue the gleeful hand of the Powers That Be.

As I was watering the plants yesterday evening, I was horrified to discover a thronging mass of ants swarming around the sickly little lime tree in the window. These are delicate little blacks ants, easily squished, and of the non-biting variety. But I'm not talking about a few ants -- there were thousands of them circling the rim of the pot in a roiling black sea of repulsion. Maybe tens of thousands.

I stood there aghast for a few moments wondering what the hell to do, and as my gaze followed the trail to the big blue chair in the bay window, I froze again in stupefaction. The upholstery was crawling with the little fuckers to the point where I could hardly see the texture or color of the fabric beneath the writhing hordes.

I have no idea where they come from or why they come up three stories to enter into my apartment and harass me. They're probably nested in the walls with the toxic mold somewhere. And frankly I don't care, so long as they disappear again soon, and never find the kitchen. I've had friends who had these same ants invade their kitchen and wreak havoc, getting inside sealed jars of maple syrup, bags of pet food, boxes of cereal, dying by the thousands in the cold of the fridge. My pantry (and mental health) is in no state to deal with something like that.

Afraid that they might be nesting in the dirt of the lime tree or, heaven forfend, inside the blue chair, harvesting aphid dew or farming a crop of fungi or something heinous, I remembered that I still had a couple murderous ant control stakes that were long past their expiration date. They contain arsenic trioxide and bait, which the ants are supposed to take back to their nest, distribute to the colony, and then die en masse. So I stuck these in the dirt around the lime tree. This had never really worked in the past, since, they kept coming back and all, but it's all I had.

Well, that and the vacuum. Which I also set about using to suck up as many of the bastards as possible. I hoovered every crevice and fold of the chair and its pillows, and as much of the infested plant pot as possible, but there were still plenty of ants swarming around the tree and the poison. I isolated the vacuum cleaner and spent the better part of the evening keeping vigil to ensure the ants didn't escape, crawling back up the hose to kill me. Which they did not.

Tonight, I saw two ants exploring the floor beneath the lime tree, but that was all. I'm afraid to ask aloud, but fighting back the invading hordes cannot be that easy, can it?

Less Wrinkled; Fewer Wrinkles. Jeesh.

I stayed home from work today. Despite what you might think, this doesn't actually happen very often, and I usually reserve calling in sick for only my most miserable illness, since sick days and vacation time are all lumped into one. Which means I'm part of the problem, of course, going to work sick and spreading pestilence to my coworkers, just so I can take my time off for actual enjoyable pursuits. The thing is, I actually do feel like crap today.

I believe it's the beginning of a cold, but I'm not exactly sure. It's not following the normal progression of ick, but seems to be stalled in the early phase of itchy, watery eyes and pre-runny nose sinus sensation. I'm having problem identifying the feeling precisely, but it's not normal and it's uncomfortable, and I feel like I should sleep for two days. If I could. Which I can't. It's also accompanied by a ridiculously annoying twitch in my left eyelid that will drive me to murder if it continues.

In any case, I have a sneaking suspicion/fear that it's not a cold in the classic sense, but may actually be caused by something in my apartment. Like toxic mold in the walls. Or something in the heating vents. I have no evidence to speak to this, nor do I have a good way of identifying such evidence. So I'll probably die a slow painful hypochondriacal neurotic death that could have been prevented.

Meanwhile, I've spent a sizable chunk of the day online accomplishing nothing. Has anyone else noticed the ridiculous nature of many of the banner ads lately? I wonder if anyone takes these seriously. I mean, it's one thing to make unsubstantiated claims, but a whole other* to make them in such a comically hyberbolic (and ungrammatical) fashion. They didn't even attempt realism here. "Be squinty and glamorous by using our product! Unless you prefer looking like a homeless 85 year old meth addict." It makes me laugh. ...Which probably gives me wrinkles.

*My first inclination was to type the non word "nother". Which got me to thinking how "an other" probably turned to "another" to begin with. In a different life it would be fun to be a linguist, and then I'm sure I could identify why we feel the need to split it back up into "a nother" -- which, incidentally, is sort of how we got the words "orange" and "apron" apparently. It used to be "a narange" and "a napron" respectively, but was mis-divided in common usage until "an orange" and "an apron" became the norm. Look it up.

After the aftermath

I'm looking out my windows at the moment and am rather mesmerized by the atmosphere, for once.

I've mentioned before that weather fascinates me (I like to claim it's a result of my upbringing on the farm where the weather helps define nearly all events... though it could also just be due to sheer dorkitude), and given the dearth of interesting weather phenomena here in Northern California (the occasional hurricane-strength tree-toppling gale, aside), my hunger is rarely satiated. Winter brings steel grey stormy skies, and summer brings with it the low blanket of the marine layer, but beyond that is usually a featureless cerulean infinity, save the periodic high contrail-derived cirrus. Lovely and amazing, certainly, but terribly boring compared with the atmospheric drama of continental climes along the Front Range.

Just now, however -- and in serene contrast to Friday -- with rain pouring straight down without even tapping the glass, the Financial District skyscrapers are cloaked in mauve, their wet facades shimmering through the curtain of a passing shower. To the west above Nob Hill, beyond a swirl of lavender mist, blue sky is coming into view filled with alternating layers of nimbus aglow with the early sun. Shafts of light pierce through in places, and just below the unsettled mackerel sky to the far west roils another pregnant purple cumulus. A few low tendrils of icy white fog are drifting in off the bay, wisping between obstacles in the opposite direction of the elements aloft.

It is, to say the least, sublime.

Aftermath

Crikeys!
I was all too happy to leave the frigid temps of Denver behind, but the weather in these here parts sorta went haywire yesterday.

For once, the forecasts had it about right - the 2nd of three back-to-back storms would slam into the Bay Area on Friday, bringing with it lots of rain and wind. A Coastal Flood watch, High Surf advisory, Small Craft advisory, High Wind warning and Urban and Small Stream Flooding advisory were all posted. So I kinda knew what I was in for on my walk to work Friday. I even went grocery shopping Thursday evening so I could take my lunch to the office and avoid going outside.

Yet it came as something of a surprise that, as I emerged from my apartment and hoisted my lightening umbrella*, there was a loud crack and crash as an enormous chunk of one of the large trees in front of my apartment crushed the Flexcar in the parking lot beneath it. With a sudden heightened sense of my surroundings, I picked my way through the debris of branches and trash and mangled umbrellas towards the office, crossing the street to avoid large trees and steer clear of scaffolding, which could blow down and crush me like that poor car.

Somewhere around Montgomery and Pine streets I entered a Zen-like state, having nearly mastered the martial art of umbrella maneuvers required to work my way through downtown. Using both hands, one at the handle, the other placed just below the runner and stretchers to provide maximum stability in the buffeting winds, I could also collapse the umbrella with a flick of the fingers to prevent inversion. A wide, low stance prevented my being lifted off my feet or caught off-blance. Switching hands as necessary, I used all my senses to anticipate the direction of the gale as it whirled and eddied between buildings and through alleyways, plunging the umbrella against the wind while keeping the rain from soaking my head. My umbrella became an extension of myself as I subtly twisted and raised or lowered it to defend against the onslaught of other umbrellas that could take off an ear or poke an eye. The trail of broken and tattered umbrellas and soaked passers-by told the tale of the many who did not perfect this art.

Sadly, despite my umbrella prowess, by Market street the wet had soaked through my boots and socks alike. By the time I arrived at the office, my corduroy cargo pants were so saturated, I might as well have worn them in the shower.

BART had shut down in stretches due to fallen trees on the tracks, roads were closed due to flooding, downed power lines left many without electricity, a bridge was closed due to a blown-over 18-wheeler. 30-foot waves swept the coast, and wind gusts were clocked over 70 on the Golden Gate Bridge, over 80 on Angel Island, and at 107 mph at Kregor Peak near Mt Diablo in the East Bay.

My shoes and pants had mostly dried out and the winds had mostly died down by the time I walked home. But the view from my apartment is considerably changed as still another of the large Indian Laurel ficus trees toppled into the street, mangling two parked cars. My view is less a forest of green and more a sea of rooftops. Sigh.

*I've mentioned this in passing before. I shall elaborate soon. The time to do so approacheth.

Bookend

I'm mostly over my crankiness from last night. You say pushover, I say why bother. It's a new year, I'm starting fresh.

Anyhoodle, in the grand tradition of end-of-the-year countdowns, lists, and summaries, I present to you my own version, which really only encompasses the last 3 months since last I wrote, in no particular order:

• My neighborhood, North Beach, was recognized by the American Planning Association as one of the top 10 neighborhoods in the country. For whatever that's worth. Guess that helps me justify the fact that I've been renting the same apartment for 10 years now. That plus the fact that my rent has not increased a dime in those 10 years (glory be to rent control). And my aversion to moving.
• The 50th anniversary passed of the launch of Sputnik I, the first artificial satellite to orbit the planet, igniting the space race and marking humanity's first major recognition of its potential to slip the surly bonds of Earth. A mere 50 years later, over 4000 launches involving 40 nations have littered the heavens with approximately 3000 functioning satellites and more than 6000 pieces of space junk circling the globe; the Voyager2 probe traveling at 10 miles per second, just passed through the termination shock but still has a decade before it will cross the heliopause leaving our solar system behind and entering interstellar space beyond; 2 robotic probes continue to defy expectation, venturing across the surface of Mars and uncovering convincing evidence of a watery past, thereby enhancing the probability that life once existed there. ...An interesting side note: alleged pieces of Sputnik that landed in Encino during re-entry are apparently on display up the street in my neighborhood, at The Beat Museum of all places.
  
• Everyone seems to be having babies, including my friends Paul & Mare Manangan (decreasing the likelihood of our Amazing Race prospects, even were casting to rediscover our brilliant audition tape), and Li'l Ben & Dawn O'Connell. Congrats y'all! I wonder if I'll ever see you again?
• I was nearly attacked by a piece of driftwood on the beach at Point Reyes on Thanksgiving day, which turned out to be a sea lion and not driftwood at all. It came as quite a surprise when one of the logs reared up and bark-roared at me as I approached, preoccupied as I was with the stunning scenery and the glare of the setting sun. I'm sure it was as freaked out as I was, but the fact that it could have squashed me or bitten off my face means it automatically wins.
• My roommate spent nearly two months traveling around Europe, visiting Bavaria, Prague, Amsterdam, and the Canary Islands to name a few, and fueling my wanderlust with a big dose of jealousy.
• One of the great innovations of the year debuted at Trader Joe's: the Candy Cane Joe Joe. Basically a generic Oreo cookie whose icing interior is laced with crushed peppermint candy cane, it heralded in the holidays much more cheaply than Starbuck's peppermint mocha, and without all the caffeine tremors.
  
• The screen writer's strike has left me with little to watch on TV now that all the episodes of my shows that were in the can have aired. Which is bad for my knitting. But good for my reading. And has rejuvenated my Netflix subscription.
  
• Before the TV went dark, my knitting reached a new high as I graduated from scarves to less useful but much cuter pumpkins, just in time for Thanksgiving.
• The biggest earthquake of my California tenure (and indeed, the largest since the '89 Loma Prieta) bucked me off the couch the evening of Oct 30th, rattling the pictures askew, and adding a few new cracks in the plaster of the creaking apartment. At a magnitude of 5.4, it was borderline alarming, but my fear was tempered by the immediate recognition that the epicenter was some distance away (near San Jose, as it turns out); there was a noticeable pause between the jolting arrival of the initial P-wave and the subsequent rattling S-waves.
  
• A few days after discovering a new favorite beach hidden away in plain site, all the public shorelines, including Alcatraz and Angel Islands, were closed for weeks after a cargo ship collided with the Bay Bridge on Nov 7th, spilling 58,000 gallons of heavy bunker fuel oil. Globs of toxic goo washed ashore, an oily sheen visibly coated the waters along my jogging route, and many seagulls I saw had greasy bathtub rings around their bellies and necks. Unseen by me, thousands of birds died with oiled feather during the peak migration period.
  
• My grandmother on my mother's side passed away at age 93, resulting in my 3rd trip to Nebraska in as many months. While sad, it was not totally unexpected and I had been able to say goodbye, of sorts, when I visited her in July. She will, of course, be missed. The funeral provided a welcome opportunity to reconnect with extended family I rarely see, which in turn opened an interesting window into my roots and what my life might have been had different paths been trod. Travel in peace, Grandma Hilda.
  

Happy New Year, everyone! May your 2008 be filled with friends, family, peace and joy.

Welcome Back, Zach!

I'm back. And this time I mean it.
My little hiatus turned into a big hiatus, because, well, that's just the way those things work: You miss the gym once and suddenly you've wasted a year of membership dues without a single workout; you take a summer break from the pottery studio and 4 years go by without throwing any clay; you put down the book when it gets a little dull and months go by without reading a single page of something other than your magazines which you're only barely staying on top of to keep the recycle pile manageable; you tell yourself you'll write a little over the coming weekend and days become weeks until you don't even know where to begin so you just don't.

At any rate, I suppose a lot has happened since last I typed here, yet there doesn't seem to be much to show for it. Perhaps I'll summarize in my first entry of 2008 (and by the way, Holy Shit). Just now, however, I'm going to use the last few minutes of 2007 to bitch and moan and unload, the better to start the New Year fresh and positive and glass half-full-like.

Before I get too whiny, let me first say that I have only just returned from a lovely week in the Denver deepfreeze with the family. It was only maybe the 3rd Christmas I've spent with my fam in 11 years, so it was kind of a big deal. The nephews are getting huge, Santa was generous (I even had a stocking on the mantle!), and it dumped so much snow on Christmas Day (and two days later) that it pretty much made up for all the white Christmases I've missed over the years. I got to exercise my long-forgotten snow-shoveling skills, and even didn't die while snowboarding in temperatures of 13 below zero. So... YAY!

(Remind me, though, to fill you in on my work/boss frustration leading up to my trip home. Because -- yargh.)

Anyway, so here I am, just having walked in the door about a half hour ago. After being escorted through the security lines at DIA by a certain TSA agent I know (thanks, Shawn!), it figures that things couldn't continue to go my way. The plane departed without explanation well over an hour late, and the luggage took about 45 minutes to show up at baggage claim in SFO, which put me on public transit between 9:30 and 11pm... precisely the same time thousands of revelers were headed into the City in their loud, drunken, cardboard hat-wearing hordes. Try crowding onto a bus with a 35lb suitcase, laptop shoulder bag, and 6-ft snowboard bag when the fare is free and the masses are migrating to your neighborhood to continue getting their drink on.

So I finally arrive, looking forward to kicking back in my quiet, empty apartment, knowing that my roommates departed last week for a month of traveling in Vietnam. I had specifically admonished against incinerating the apartment in my absence, given their penchant for candle burning, and requested that they turn the heat down before departing. And what to my wondering eyes should appear, upon staggering in the door? The Christmas lights on the pine boughs over the mantle, still plugged in and unattended for days. And the apartment is uncharacteristically warm... oh look! The thermostat is still set so that the heat has been on for days, keeping things cozy for exactly no one. And hey! Dishes in the sink! Is that...? It is! The garbage was bagged up, but wasn't taken out, so instead it's moldering on the floor of the room beyond the kitchen.

Worst of all, however, my bedroom has been completely violated. In an apartment of shared spaces, my bedroom is the one space that's completely mine. It's the one place where I'm in control; if it's a mess, I'm the only one to blame. I'm possessive of the space and the belongings in it, perhaps unreasonably so. But it's my sanctuary. Now, let me be the first to admit that it wasn't exactly in a pristine state when I left. But I'm one of those people who may appear disorganized yet generally knows exactly where things are. And despite a certain amount of clutter, I have my own quirky hygiene rules that include never putting my clothes on the floor, and keeping my bed sacred space. I spend a lot of time sleeping there -- I may transfer a pile of laundry to the foot of my bed, but nothing touches the sheets and pillows but me and my pajamas. I won't even crawl under the sheets wearing street clothes. It's like throwing your wet towel on the floor and using it again later. Ew.

Now, a friend was crashing at my place while I was away. He was set up comfortably in the guest room, but apparently that space was needed for a little holiday get-together my roommates were having. Which meant my pal slept one or two nights in MY room. Which by itself isn't particularly bothersome. A quick change of the sheets and I'm good. But having spent enough nights with him in the distant past to be familiar with some of his habits, I should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

I walked in to find my bed askew, a foot away from the wall, pillows on the floor and one pillow resting in the dirt of the houseplant on my nightstand. My trash was laying on its side and its contents were spilled across the floor mingled with some of the clean laundry that had once been atop my bed. The clothing I had gotten out while packing was similarly on the floor on the other side of my bed, smooshed between the wall and the dusty storage bins which had once been under my bed. This stuff was no longer under my bed because my friend's stuff had been shoved under there instead, awaiting his next monthly visit. What had once been two distinct sorted stacks of paperwork were merged into one heap, carelessly strewn across the bed and now including some things that weren't even mine. My drawer of yarn and knitting projects in progress was upended, with the contents littering the floor and coated in the dust that had been stirred up from under the bed (obviously I need to vacuum under there more often, I recognize). And, I shit you not, someone's electric toothbrush was in my bed, under the sheets. WTF?!

I'm so annoyed I'm muttering to myself in my empty apartment and barely maintaining my composure. So much for a relaxing evening. I don't even want to deal tonight. Instead, I'm throwing my sleeping bag on the couch and camping out, leaving the mess for tomorrow.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,/And never brought to mind?/Should auld acquaintance be forgot,/And auld lang syne?

Perhaps yes.

Well Why Not

Rise Up

Speaking of building buildings, watching them going up is pretty fascinating.

There's a 22-story residential building (BLŪ) going up directly out my office window on Folsom street. I've been able to sit at my desk and observe the whole process, from the first scraping of the original asphalt parking lot to the drilling and reinforcing of the ground, the digging of the basement parking to the placement of the rebar and concrete forms. They just poured the concrete on the 21st floor, the precast facade is mostly in place, and they've framed out the rooms in aluminum 2x4s about halfway up so far.

Naturally, taking in this whole process has brought up even more questions than it answered. The crane magically appeared, so I didn't get to see how they put it together or raise it up by adding new segments. The facade also magically appeared, so I have yet to witness how they hang it from the edge of the building; I'm hoping it will become clear when they start to hang the glass panels that will clad the rest of the building. I'm also not exactly sure what the rickety wooden supports are doing on the top four floors... from here, they seem to be made of two 2x4s or 4x4s that are clamped together side-by-side, and I can't really see how that could provide useful support for the concrete floors/ceilings because any significant compression it seems to me would slide one beam down through the clamps. But I see this at other similarly-constructed sites, so clearly they serve some purpose.

Anyway, watching the crane forever lifting and lowering forms, buckets, rebar columns, port-a-potties, etc., reminds me of my last office location where I also sat in a window looking out over a construction site. This was years ago (1998) as they built the W hotel tower next to the SFMOMA. I kept wondering what would happen if -- and therefore having the secret unspoken half-hope that I'd get to see -- something dropped from the crane. One morning, shortly after getting to work and settling in, as I was taking my first call of the day and idly looking out the window, it dawned on me that I hadn't seen the usual bustle of activity, and my eyes focused onto the crane cable hanging slack. As my eyes followed the cable down, I slowly stood, leaning forward with my forehead against the window. The cable disappeared into an enormous gaping hole like a cookie-cutter cut-out through the roof of the 2-story firehouse adjacent to the construction site. I dropped the phone received.

Turns out that a few hours earlier, the axle on the winch had broken and a 9-ton piece of pre-cast cladding fell nearly 30 stories, smashing through the firemen's living quarters, the engine garage, and into the basement. Purely coincidentally, the firehouse had been emptied of people and equipment the day before in preparation for a remodeling; no one was injured. I did not know this at the time and was immediately cured of my disaster witness craving, left wondering what the crash & boom must have sounded/felt like, but relieved I had not observed it.

Anyhoodle, I'm totally hooked on the Emporis website which has all sorts of useful info on buildings existing, under construction, and proposed, for cities all over the world. I also just learned of several architectural walking tours that I think will supplement my own wanderings and wonderings. Hooray!