A Million Miles...

Away, away, away...

This week, while it's gone by too quickly, has felt like a million miles away from work. That's the best present I could have asked for (besides the FANTASTIC box of McPhee goodies I'm still sorting through! Thank you Rooty!).

I finally, after a year, maybe two, reorganized my office so it's a space I can actually work in. I've had time to work on my submissions for the Oregon photo show, do some laundry, clean the house, go to the grocery store, the hardware store, repair a few things around the house, visit family, and cook.

Here's a quick, tasty dinner to go with your margaritas - throw some rice in a pot to cook (I used basmati, but whatever you like). While that's doing its thing, make yourself a margarita (or another) and thinly slice a small yellow onion and cut up a chicken breast or two into evenly-sized chunks (1" cubes or about that). Season the chicken with salt & Mexican spices (whatever's handy) and set it aside.

Throw the onion into a hot pan with a little high-smoke oil (canola or similar). Don't use a non stick pan - they're for sissies and don't allow for caramelization. Caramelization = flavor.

When the onion is translucent (5 min or so), throw in the chicken. Cook that for 5 min or so on high heat - let the chicken get some color, but keep it moving in the pan so it doesn't burn or dry out.

Before the chicken is totally done, once the pan has some nice caramel color in it, deglaze it with whatever tequila you have on hand. Last night I grabbed the Don Edwardo reposado. A half cup or so, and let it simmer for a few.

Take the pan off heat and add a little cream or half & half - all I had was half & half, so to thicken it up a bit, I made a little half & half and cornstarch slurry and added that after the first dose of dairy - blend it well with the rest of the sauce. Check the seasoning & adjust as needed. The chicken should be done after the rice has finished, allowing the rice to further steam once it's off heat.

If I'd had some fresh or frozen veggies, I'd have thrown them in after the chicken, but sadly, haven't been back to the grocery store yet. Instead, we had a salad.

Serve over the rice and wash it down with another margarita. Ole!
Happy New Year's Eve!

Leafy Karma

Karma's funny. A couple of weekends ago, Crazy Neighbor Bob used his little electric leaf blower to blow all the downed leaves in his yard across the street, in front of our house and a few others.

Rather than rake up his own leaves, he did the lazy thing. All I could do was shake my head & remember that the street sweeper would come in a few days & clean up his mess for him.

It wasn't so much about the laziness, but it was rainy and the piles of leaves he'd created were wet and slippery when turning into or out of our driveway.

The next time CNB fired up the leaf blower, I heard yelling outside. I poked my head out the front door and heard what sounded like another neighbor yelling at Bob to stop blowing all his leaves into the street in front of the other houses.

I chuckled to myself as I watched CNB, evidently with a shred of social conscience, rake up all the leaves he collected into big piles and deposit them into his green bin. There was nary a stray leaf in his or our front yard.

That evening the weather kicked up again with wind and rain, and the next morning his yard was covered again in leaves and our yard was almost totally clean.

Strange Dreams!

It could be the nog, or perhaps the soggy weather - my dreams lately have been all sorts of weird.

Early this week I had another flying dream, where I don't fly so much float... I needed to get home or to work or somewhere - I was somewhere in downtown SF, but it was smaller - the whole city was smaller and the buildings/hills much bigger, like an exaggerated cartoon city.

I didn't want to go a particular way, so I decided to fly, or float, to where I needed to go. I was able to do this by stomping my heel down onto the ground and that propelled me up into the air. In moments I was gazing past Seacliff at the beach where a large group of surfers were hanging out. I don't remember ever arriving where I was headed - I was too caught up in the great view.

Then a couple nights later I had a dream that David decided he did want kids, so we had a kid - it's just that easy! But then after the kid was several months old, he decided he didn't actually want a kid, so he left. And then I had to move and get back into an apartment I once had in Seattle. (I've never lived in Seattle.) To David's credit, after hearing about this dream, reassured me that no matter what, he would not leave!

The next night was another float/fly dream, this time somewhere in central CA near the aqueduct. I drifted over a bluff and was suddenly able to see a secret military air base where top secret (black ops!) planes were doing training exercises. I was freaking out in the dream about seeing all this. I do not remember where/why I was floating around over there. There's not much to do over there, especially if you're just floating around.

Then last night - the weirdest one yet. I was walking home from somewhere, somewhere in the south bay like Cupertino, but it was getting dark and I was about to head into a sketchy part of town (an area with only four starbuck's?). I crossed a street and ended up walking through the edge of a park area that looked like a quarry - rocks and stones were everywhere.

I started chucking rocks at shadowy figures as if to demonstrate I was a stone-throwing badass - don't mess with me (which always works). And then someone started talking to me and suddenly it was a forested area where a bunch of homeless people were living in trees.

Now I was there with a few friends, and we were asking the tree-dwellers how they stay warm & dry as they showed us their setups. One forest tenant had a single-wide trailer suspended in the trees. We all went up to check it out.

We sat around the living room, which was a good-sized room, bigger than the trailer itself, talking and watching TV. A little while later we decided we'd better take off so we could catch the bus home. I thought it would be smart to make a pit stop first. I dashed across the hall from the living room and sort of crashed into the bathroom, unsteady on my feet.

The trailer bathroom was tiny - like an airplane bathroom, but even more narrow. You had to fold the sink up, like a Murphy Sink, out of the way, to get to the toilet. I sat down on the toilet and just as I sat down, the whole trailer felt unsteady below me, and I thought, "could this thing fall out of the tree?"

And then it did. It was falling, and there was no way out. I held my breath and braced myself as well as I could. I knew if I didn't die, I'd have to be dug out, because the sink had me totally blocked in. And I'm a tad claustrophobic. But what can you do?

I woke up. I woke up and man, did I have to pee.

Year-End Reflexing

It's that time of year... What did it all mean? What lies ahead? What IS Cool Whip? Who invented pants?

I read something today that reminded me of years past, and I realized how different life is now than how it was, not so long ago. Ten years can seem like a good chunk of time, but it's easy to forget when it seems like life was always this easy.

Ten years ago I left a craptastic marriage, aka "the past life," with no idea how the future might play out. It was one of the hardest days of my life, but it all worked out, and really well.

It wasn't like I could just announce I was leaving and then go. I'd tried that twice before. It didn't go well. Things were broken, things were thrown - it was made very clear I wouldn't be leaving without a lot of further breakage. So I played along...

During one nasty incident, while I looked like I was nodding along with his ridiculous rant, I was adding up paychecks and time spans. At that point I knew I'd be out in a month.

The very next day, I started packing little bits out with me, storing things at work, and securing storage space a few blocks away. About a month later, he happened to have all-day meetings in the south bay, and that would be my day.

I feigned a headache that morning and said I would be staying home sick. He left, and I watched to make sure his car left the garage and drove away. I ran down to my car and unloaded the stockpile of boxes I had locked in my trunk.

I packed boxes, packed my car, and made multiple trips to the storage unit - from 9 a.m. til 4 p.m., the absolute latest I could comfortably go. Before leaving, I wrote a note then talked to the landlord, who couldn't have been more understanding, thank goodness. And then I drove away.

As I drove over the bridge I called my closest friend at the time and told her I needed a place to crash for a couple of weeks. She said No problem and that we'd go out to dinner to celebrate. She knew what I'd been trying to do for months.

I was terrified and elated at the same time. I was starting a brand new life, totally on my own. Exhilarating and wonderful, but wouldn't have been possible without help.

Thank you Susannah, for opening your heart and home to me. Our nights at Macaroni are still some of my favorite memories. Thank you Bryan - it wouldn't have been possible at all without the great job I had and your support and understanding. And thank you David, Mom, and Dad for being there when I was ready to find you.

Life is so good now. So much to be thankful for, so many people who have helped me in ways they may never know. But the point being, it's always possible to start over. You know, if you want to. And if you don't, then cool - rock on. Good times.

Death Cab!

Last Thursday night we ventured out to the Paramount Theater to watch Death Cab for Cutie. The Paramount is a beautiful venue, and we had seats way down front. Fantastic show. It's fun to watch good musicians who love what they're doing. Sadly, all I had with me was my phone. Bask in the grainy goodness.

It's Festivus!

It's that time of year again... Get out the silver pole.


Jeffy's amazing mushroom treats


Snow dusted cookies

All this festive decor and amazing food was found at Jeffy's annual wreath-making event on Saturday. Most auspicious - the annual beaver transfer - from last year's wreath to the new...




Now that's some beaver shot.
Happy Festivus!

Blondes Have No Fun?

Sooo... Here's a little something I've noticed over the years, something I was recently reminded of while looking at a TV ad for the human papilloma virus vaccine...

If you ever find yourself watching a tampon commercial, or a birth control commercial, or an STD treatment commercial, or these days a commercial for the HPV vaccine, you might notice - there are ususally NO blondes in these ads.

Many years ago I found myself watching a tampon commerical and at the end, learned that only brunettes get periods and when they do, they use tampons - not pads. Blondes use pads, like Kathy Rigby did. Though she probably didn't have many periods. Extreme athletic training can have that affect.

Then later, when birth control (the Pill) ads became more common, I learned the same lesson. Only brunettes need or use birth control. This is not an issue for blondes. If you are blonde, you don't have sex that requires birth control. Or you don't have sex.

Check out the stock photos used on the following sites:
- birth control 1, birth control 2, birth control 3
- tampons 1, tampons 2,
- valtrex, famvir
- HPV vaccine

While it's not absolute - the websites linked above do show an odd blonde now & then. But if you watch the TV commercials, they're like Snuffleupagus. The HPV vaccine ads and website imagery seem obviously skewed to minorities. What's that about?

Sooo... do your own analysis... if you notice one of these commercials on TV, watch it. Maybe it's just me. I've had blonde, strawberry blonde, brunette, and buzz-cut hair, so there's no personal bias here. But I do think it's interesting...

My Navin Moment

As in, Navin Johnson... Who after finding his name in the new phone book said, "Things are going to start happening to me now..." And then the shooting started. "He hates these cans!!!"

Not only does my work continue to be published in our little local magazine, in this month's issue on the back page they included a little blurb about me. So cool! That's all I needed for Christmas.

And I'm waiting to hear back from Oregon's High Desert Museum about a possible photo exhibit next March - not sure if I'll be included, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

Now if only my new lens would hurry up & get here...

Thanksgiving Download

Where to start? Before the holiday it was work, work, work until the very last minute, late into the night, before packing up for a quick road trip to Palm Desert.

On Thanksgiving Day we checked out The Living Desert Preserve that now has a baby giraffe, born on the premises. I didn't get to see the baby, but seeing adults only a few feet away was breathtaking. Also fun to see was a lazy leopard, zebras, gazelles, hyenas, and meerkats.

Thanksgiving dinner was largely uneventful until David mistook a forkful of horseradish for mashed potatoes. All of a sudden we noticed David coughing into his napkin, but not a usual "I'm coughing up a lung" cough, it was more subtle, but he was hunched over, gripping the table and his face was blazing red. Something was wrong.

We offered the Heimlich but he shook his head, so we waited. The busboy and waitress watched anxiously - both with frightened expressions - and finally David held up a hand showing us a "thumbs up," while still coughing through the last of his own volcanic eruption.

Later that night he said he had a clarity of thought he hadn't had in many years. Maybe a forkful of horseradish is what I need to clear out the migraines in my head.

Another nasty headwrecker broke down the gate yesterday afternoon and I found myself at work without my meds. I thought some nap time in the usability lab would help, but there was no napping to be had and after an hour of laying there in agony, I thought I should try to make my way home.

I think now I had a migraine/stomach flu combo platter. I headed out to Bart with a plastic bag tucked into my pocket, just in case. I didn't feel too bad walking to Bart in the cold air, but once I was standing on a crowded train, things weren't lookin so good.

I thought I could make it to the first stop then get out & get some fresh air before continuing, but the body wasn't going to wait. A few minutes before the next stop I knew there could be no holding it off. I turned around to face the doors I was in front of and silently evacuated the contents of my stomach into a Target bag.

I recommend these bags for on-the-go booting. Good mil strength and the logo all over the outside helps disguise its contents. Somewhat.

And now what to do? I stood there facing the doors holding the bag under my mouth, waiting. Finally the train stopped and the doors - on the opposite side of the train - opened. I quietly said "excuse me" through my barf bag and made my way toward a trash can.

No one seemed to notice and no one said a word, but I suspected a few people may have seen something, but probably couldn't tell just what they were seeing. I wondered if this is how a drunk or a junkie might look stumbling off a train.

With some Purell and a napkin, I was almost all cleaned up, but there was no way I could get back on a train. Each one that came was more crowded than the last, and I was out of barf bags.

I wandered downstairs hoping to find a cab. Thankfully, one drove up just as I walked out. He took me the few miles down the road to my stop where I shuffled to my car and made it home. Good times.

Kill the Poachers

from exZOOberance.com

We were watching yet another depressing 60 Minutes on Sunday. One story in particular really bummed me out. The tiger population in India is dwindling fast and only a handful of people seem to give a shit.

One conservationist believes that anyone caught on a game reserve should be shot on sight. Huzzah! I'm all for it.

As he said, they come onto the reserve armed, intending to kill tigers - why give them a chance? Kill the poachers first. The 60 Minutes guy seemed surprised at this idea. I think it's fair.

And millions of idiots in China still believe things made from tiger bits will somehow enhance their lives. What dipshit doesn't look great in a tiger skin skirt? Now, if you fought the tiger in hand-to-paw combat for that skirt, I'd say you maybe earned the right to wear it, but still, it's lame and you're stupid

No one's thinking Big Picture here. I keep thinking someone must be. Someone must be keeping track of the situation to ensure we're not going to totally destroy the world.

But no. Someone isn't. If there's money to be made selling tiger whiskers, by god, go bag yourself a tiger and sell that shit. There will be plenty of people looking the other way, expecting their fair share to ensure you can sell all you want.

Now I understand why people join PETA and go all aggro/commando about this shit. Must be better than feeling totally helpless.

Then there's always the WWF.
[sigh]

Just Say Duuude... What?

MJ restaurant sign from uGoto.com

I saw a show today about drugs in the 70s - when pot from Columbia was first brought into the U.S., but it had to be brought in by the cargo plane-full to be profitable on a large scale - and how the savvy dealers realized they'd do better with cocaine - smaller shipments, way more revenue.

According to the show, High Times Magazine was started to help move all the pot brought in because at that time, few people knew about "Columbia Gold" and other varieties, so they started a magazine to spread the word.

Then there's cocaine. What a frightening concoction that is. On the show an actress was talking about how back in the late 70s/early 80s the hairdressers (on set) always had the coke, and it was "such a nice afternoon pick-me-up."

The idea sounds appealing - just a quick snort and you're fresh and peppy until late into the night - until you learn about all the damage it does to the central nervous system, not to mention the mucous membranes. Good times.

Also interesting was the timing of the 70s drug scene (as described in the show) - how we were coming out of a fearful state, with the Draft and the Vietnam war, and all the "kids" were rebelling, basically running wild all Carnivale-style.

If that was the impetus behind the 70s drug scene, what are we going to see in the next five or ten years? Is our current administration the reason behind the huge meth problem?

I'm Sleepy

mural in emeryville

It's only 9:30 - I might pass out before the 10 O'Clock News comes on. Speaking of which, where the hell is Leslie and her ever-changing hairdo? My suspicion - she's taken time off for cosmetic surgery as KTVU recently went HiDef with their news broadcast.

KTVU isn't talking about where she's been the past few months. I think it's been months - it's been a long time. Please, please, please - Leslie or no - please - no more Frank Sommersquash. I can't take the pinstripes. I'd rather watch little Sal Casteneda, once the traffic boy on KITS radio, now he's all grown up on TV!

Trolls Suck

I'm starting to really hate small-minded trolls. They should be rounded up & sent to Bangledesh to be ship breakers.

I was having a great time this morning shopping at the Alameda Flea Market, shooting photos here & there as I wandered, until I made the mistake of stopping at a sacred chandelier booth.

While amusing myself outside her booth, I heard a tinny, agitated voice repeatedly saying, "Can I help you?"

I didn't realize a troll was talking to me until she was in my face, asking me to not take pictures of her wonderful creations, so incredibly unique and mystical like the unicorn that photography might steal their souls and then no one would want to buy them.

Here's the wondrous creation:


Its soul now belongs to me. Using my zoom lens, I took many more photos from a distance and now she'll never sell another chandelier.

Time Warped

barbie nudists @ the flea market

I'm pretty sure I'm not a grown up. The grown ups seem very serious. They don't make jokes about lactose intolerance followed by a loud mouth noise that mimics a horrendous fart.

They probably don't cruise the office in the late afternoon looking to nick furniture from other departments. They probably call facilities.

It's not that I feel immature, though I do love classic 7th grade humor now and then. It just seems like I don't fit in with my age group. Most days I still feel about 15 years old, but without the painful insecurity of adolescence. I don't wear (or own) a pair of sling back heels. I don't wear "slacks." My clothes are not coordinated into "outfits."

It's like I'm going in reverse. I used to dress up like a big girl and go to work in my suits and heels with professional hairdos and coordinated accessories. But now - now if I wear stuff like that, it's like I'm in costume. It doesn't feel like me.

I guess it's part of getting older - realizing that chronological age is meaningless. Except after a night of drinking, and then you're mercilessly reminded that the resilience of youth is long gone.

Before I go I must say, Letterman in hi-def is amazing. I'm smitten all over again.

I Heart the Ferry

This is why I love the ferry...

The other morning I woke up tired, feeling like I was fighting yet another office germ, so I wasn't out of bed until 7:30. That isn't too late, generally, but I *really* didn't want to take Bart. It's just so dreary compared to sailing across the bay on a gorgeous, Indian summer morning.

I decided to do what I could to get out of the house as quickly as possible in hopes of catching the last ferry to SF. The last ferry leaves at 8:30, sharp. It's about 15 minutes away, give or take a few depending on traffic.

A few times I thought there was no way I was going to make it and resigned myself to another boring train ride, but at 8:20, I grabbed my stuff along with my comb and ran out of the house with my wet hair flying behind me, deciding I'd try like hell to catch the boat.

My neighbor walked over just as I was backing out of the driveway, trying to ask me to babysit his dog sometime. I could only holler out the window that I was late and I'd have to talk to him later.

That cost me 15 seconds I didn't have. Can't you see my hair is wet, I look frantic, and I'm backing out of my driveway a lot faster than I usually do? Go polish your truck - I'm LATE!

Then there was all sorts of traffic on the way towards the dock - busy streets leading out to the main drag, then the main road was totally gridlocked.

It never used to be like this - suddenly we have traffic here. I kept watching the minutes tick down, realizing I'd likely get to the ferry right as it was leaving and would have to turn around and drive my ass to that skeevy bart station.

I kept on, barreling down the last street toward the parking lot. As I turned the corner, I saw that the boat was still there - it was 8:30 on the nose. I threw the car into the first spot I saw, grabbed my shit and took off running.

About halfway from my car to the dock, I saw the guy closing the gate - dammit, dammit, dammit! I kept running hoping he might see me in time - it was too far to yell. Damn traffic, damn neighbor, damn oversleeping!

At the curb by the gate, a maritime officer was sitting in his truck. As I ran toward the curb behind his truck, he started honking his horn. I was watching the gate, and once that car horn blew, the guy at the gate swung it back open!

I ran past the truck smiling and mouthed a very grateful "thank you" to the guy in the truck who smiled and waved. How friendly and civilized! I was still running at a full clip when I hit the gate and the guy at the gate said, "It's fine! no need to run - you made it!"

Once on the boat, I went to the upstairs deck where it seemed quieter, where I could chill out and enjoy my book. The lower deck is the social area, which is nice, but I thought I'd chill out on the upper deck.

I was settling into my seat when the first mate looked right at me through the window from the bridge, and while smiling, gave me a slight wag of the finger as he looked down at his watch and then back at me. I gave him the same smiling, silent "thank you" and he laughed.

Anyone who's ever taken Bart can tell you, there's no train "operator" on the planet who would hold the train a half second longer, even if they see you sprinting toward an open door. Sure, the train's gotta be on time, but seriously - a half second - that's all it would take - but they'll never, ever give it to you.

Thank you ferry!

Andy Summers!

Last Friday we had our very own celebrity encounter with Andy Summers from a nice little 80s band. He's really funny and seems like a nice guy. He was in town promoting his book, reading at the Books Inc. down the street.


Pretty cool to be able to walk down the street and listen to stories about jamming with Jimi Hendrix and experiencing San Francisco and the Fillmore while out of his mind on drugs.

We followed that with a tasty pizza a block away. Overall, a lovely Friday night.

Mid-week Ramblings

old sign in downtown Oaktown

I just finished watching the rest of the SNL season premier and was not impressed. Not until the last sketch with Andy Samberg and Maya Rudolph spoofing the new Geico campaign - Andy as a college student who recently crashed his SUV, and Maya as Whitney Houston helping to tell his story.

Andy talked about trying to make it to class in time for a midterm, then "Whitney" talked about freebasing cocaine off a waffle iron, but "mama don't do that no mo!" Andy continued, describing how he lost control of his SUV. "Whitney" chimed in about how she lost control of her bowels. And her life!

She went on to include that she'd recently seen Bobby Brown on the street and threw a bag of chicken mcnuggets at his head. It was the only funny skit in the whole show. Thank you Maya (and Andy).

She also had the best line in last week's monologue, poking fun at southern stereotypes, telling Jamie Pressley that she "don't know nuthin bout birthin no monologue."

Switching gears completely... A coworker sent me a link to a story on NYTimes Online yesterday about the destruction of elephant culture - how elephants are lashing out in violent attacks against humans, villages, and other animals, because their family and social structure is being destroyed. By humans.

But to close on a somewhat lighter note, because there's not a lot I can do about the human race destroying the world we live in... if you haven't already seen these, you must watch G4's new ads for Star Trek 2.0 - thanks go to Griffin for hipping me to these today. Charlie Murphy is the voice of Spock and he's wonderful. My favorie is ST 2.0 Cribs - The Director's Cut. Scottaaay!

Tee Em Eye

thanks istockphoto!

This morning at work I happened to walk down the hallway that passes the door into the men's room, as I've done countless times because it's a main route back to my desk.

I had the misfortune today of arriving near the men's room door just as a coworker in another group was about to go in, carrying a section of newspaper in his hand. I may not have noticed what was in his hand if he hadn't stopped to say hello as I passed by.

Question: If you know you're on your way into the men's room to mail a package, so-to-speak, why would you stop and say hello to anyone? Wouldn't it seem more appropriate to avoid all eye contact and simply proceed into the post office and take care of your business without involving anyone else?

I'm at work to work - I don't want to know that Bob Smith is headed into the crapper with the Sports page to sit down for a while. If you have to take a section of the paper with you, it's clear you're intending to spend some time in there, and I'd rather not have this information anywhere in my brain.

Not that women are immune to this biological requirement, but I can say I've never, ever seen a woman head into the john with reading material. It seems we aren't as public about what we're intending to do in there.

But I can tell you, there have been some truly disturbing smells in the ladies' room that make me want to loudly ask the offender to please plan around that event so that can be left at home.

We need a new office space with a more thoughtful design around the inevitable need for elimination. I don't want to see people going in and out of the facilities. That should all be down a hallway somewhere else - not on the same aisle with desks where people sit all day.

But whatever - that was the least of my issues with today. Everything seemed fine this morning, then after lunch I came back to a blood-spattered workspace. Someone's head had come clean off her body, spun around several times, then totally exploded all over everything in our area.

There's ongoing trouble with people being absolutely incapable of writing clear requirements, and when it comes back to bite them in the ass that they didn't include critical information, their first response is to blame my group for not psychically sensing this information.

This was all made worse by the fact that the person who supplied the requirements knew full well what was needed and somehow thought we would interpret another requirement to mean this other material would also be produced. How, we've no idea, as we've not yet completed our Miss Cleo Graduate Program in Psychic Requirement Reading and Interpretation.

Then this person had the good sense to escalate this problem to her boss who then slammed our boss who had to come tell us how we were not playing nice with the other kids and we need to keep wiping the asses of other people who can't take responsibility for their projects.

It's amazing that so many people can work at a company and even after lengthy tenures are unable to learn the same things we've been able to learn in just over a year. In short, how to get things done, or how to move a project along through all its required gates. Believe me, it's easy. It's a cake walk if you pay attention to what's going on around you.

But not only that, if people could just learn how to clearly communicate, this debacle would have never happened today. Why is communication so incredibly difficult? Are there special classes you have to take that most people missed? Can they sign up for those classes now? If not, fuck, bust out the stun gun they use on cattle at the slaughterhouse. Let them all sit slumped and drooling on their couches at home and let the rest of us keep moving.

Go Cipro!

As in:

Not:

A few weeks ago, I had some weird stomach stuff going on - not sick, not food poisoning - strange, pressure-like cramping. First it was happening right after I ate, then it started happening just before I ate. It felt like my stomach was imploding. I could eat, but it felt like I had to quickly get food down before my stomach ate itself.

Then other nights it was bad in a way that made it impossible to eat. Coffee made it worse, as did margaritas and spicy salsa. WFT? It felt like someone was squeezing the hell out of my stomach or backing over it with a truck.

I went to my doc to tell her what was happening. I've read that most ulcers are caused by a particular bacteria. The same bacteria can cause gastritis, too. There's a breath test they can do to check for this bacteria and if it's there, they can treat it and get rid of it.

After I described my symptoms, she told me it was probably just gastritis and to keep an eye on it and let her know how I'm doing. Um, I'm in pain, you lab-coat-wearing poser. Any other ideas?

Just keep taking Tylenol, popping Tums and drinking Pepto? Is that a good idea in the long run? Any reason why we wouldn't want to find out say, NOW, what might be going on? Let's just try something - anything - while I'm here. What's the worst that could happen by being proactive?

WTF is up with the persistent wait-and-see-do-nothing attitude? So you can squeeze another measly $15 copay out of me and bill my insurance as often as you can?

Clearly you're not a doctor. You should fulfill your true potential working at the DMV and leave medicine to someone who's actually interested in helping people stay healthy.

Sure, send me home for more gut pain that interferes with my ability to concentrate at work, sleep soundly or eat anything besides oatmeal and mashed potatoes. That's a swell idea. Who wouldn't want more of that!?

I went home and for another two days, enjoyed satisfying bowls of oatmeal, mashed potatoes and some bland basmati rice. But the pain was really getting old and I was sick of it.

Then I thought, Shit, if there is some bacteria down there, what would happen if I popped a Cipro? We had a full bottle left from the Rx we filled before our trip to Mexico last year.

If it was some sort of food poisoning, Cipro should work on that, too, right? I figured a wide-spectrum antibiotic couldn't hurt me too badly, so down the hatch it went.

I woke up the next morning without any appetite, but I didn't have any stomach pain, either. I enjoyed a mid-morning protein Jamba Juice, and later, an iced coffee and my stomach felt fine. By Friday morning, I felt as good as new. My stomach has felt fine ever since.

If she had done the stupid test to find out if there was some bacteria down there gone wrong, it could have been treated that day, instead of days later. Technically, doesn't that seem like she broke her Hippocratic Oath? She sent me away and let me endure more pain -- that's a way of "doing harm," right?

Stupid cow.

Spider Senses

This sign was in the lobby of my doctor's building last week.

A couple of weeks ago I had a strange encounter like I've never had before. I've lived in downtown Oakland and the Tenderloin, and in both places I never had a problem with anyone. I kept my head up and no one ever bothered me. Never paranoid, just aware.

The other day, as I pulled into the bart parking garage, I saw a guy ambling down the stairs from the second level. I noticed him because I tend to commute a bit later than the crush hour and the garage is usually very quiet at that time. He was carrying a bottle of what looked like orange gatorade and seemed in no hurry to get anywhere.

As I turned the corner through the first level up to the second level, I saw him slowly turn around and head back up the stairs toward the second level. I didn't think much of it and continued up to the second level to find a spot.

I got out and put my keys away, still wearing my suburban cocoon I resist leaving every morning. As I zipped up my bag and walked toward the stairs, I noticed Gatorade Man was walking toward me on the other side of the lane.

By this time a few of other people had come into the garage and were also making their out of the garage, so I wasn't totally alone. I thought it was odd that Gator Man was headed away from the train station, but didn't think much of it.

But as I passed him I heard his footsteps change. He turned around and was now right behind me headed toward the station. But whatever - a few of us were all headed toward the station. I picked up my pace anyhow, 'cause I never like anyone walking right behind me.

But something in my gut had flipped. Something wasn't right. Why was this guy, who moments earlier had been casually coming down the stairs, now right behind me? It didn't feel right. He was a big guy, too. At least 6', maybe 6'2" or 3", about 200lbs.

I kept on, walking as quickly as I could without looking like I was hustling. I jammed through the turnstile at the station and up the escalator. At this point, I was certain this guy was following me. Maybe he saw the soccer mom car and thought he found an easy mark. Who knows.

Once up on the platform, I walked down a ways to board a car some distance from the front. Moments later, he came off the escalator and walked up to where the front cars stop. I watched him until the train came, and as soon as the doors opened, I jumped on board and found a spot near the door on the far side of the car.

I watched as he walked down the platform past several, uncrowded cars to board the same car I was on. Coincidence? Maybe. But when your gut tells you it isn't, that's all you have to go on, and it probably shouldn't be ignored.

Then again, the imagination can take over and I'm not immune. When you don't know what might be happening, you can fill in the blanks with all sorts of things, so it's possible that absolutely nothing suspicious was going on. Thankfully, we'll never know for sure.

However, it was strange that he would walk past several cars to board where I got on, so I filed that away and when the opportunity presented itself, I snapped a picture of him with my camera phone.

When the train stopped where I get off, I waited while lots of other people filed off the train. Just before the doors were about to close, I jumped off the train. He followed. Now I was spooked. I ran up the escalators and didn't look back until I was inside the lobby of my building.

I waited behind a pillar and after a few minutes, he strolled by. I'd never seen him before that day, and haven't seen him since. It could have just been a strange chain of coincidences. I hope that's all it was. So remember, always trust your instincts, keep your head up and stay safe.

My Summer of Bob

After living here for five years, I finally have a somewhat normal, neighborly relationship with Crazy Neighbor Bob across the street. Since Bob got a puppy, he's become more "normal" and thus, not as uncomfortable to be around.

He's still crazy, but now that he has something to take care of, a companion - he seems happier and calmer. He no longer seems like he's on the verge of painting his house with mashed potatoes. And I'm happy to say, he's doing a great job with the dog - she's well-behaved and friendly.

I think he used to be a firefighter & took an extinguisher to the head. Or as he'd tell you, he hurt his back on the job. When he used to catch me on my way to work, all he ever talked about was how the state was trying to screw him out of disability. Then I'd see him out pruning the very tall tree in his yard with a long pole saw, romping on it like hell. Or washing his truck. Or rebuilding his garage. By himself.

Some favorite past moments with Bob:
[doorbell rings, Bob is at the door]
"Hello Bob, what's up?"
"I'm only telling you this because I like you. If you park your car the wrong direction on the street, you'll get a ticket."
"Okay, thanks Bob."
"Bye."

[doorbell rings, Bob is at the door]
"Hi Bob, what's up?"
"I brought you some beef jerky. I make it in my basement."
"Oh hey thanks Bob, but we're vegetarians."
[inside, once Bob is back across the street, question to David]
"Have you seen Bob's mom lately?"

[while parents are visiting, my dad goes outside to see Bob polishing his car's fender]
"Hey Bob, whatcha doin?"
"It's a new wax. Looks good, huh?"
"Sure, but I don't need my car waxed."
"Oh, well, I'll do the whole car for $80."
"No thanks, Bob."

And then there were the days when Bob would wait for us to leave in the morning, then sneak over and mow our lawn. What a crappy thing to do, right? No, not at all, except he was letting himself into the backyard through the gate, which was not OK.

I had to write him a note to let him know that we fear what we don't understand, like magic lawn mowing. It creeped me out that he was prowling all around our house when we weren't here. Seemed less than trustworthy. If we'd been close friends, no big deal, but we were Hey Neighbors. "Hey." "Hey."

But now - now we're pals. Soon after he brought the puppy home I couldn't help myself - I had to meet her.


I call her BooBoo, Puppy, and Girl - Bob calls her Tumbleweed.

I think he was just lonely & now he has a friend who will never tire of hearing about his struggles with his disability claim.

The Password Is...

[in a whisper] c r a z y...

callllendar...
Rocket SHIP...
Gouuuda...
Cattt LITTTTER...
Dipity. Dooooo.

[things you'd find in Cameron's Tumi bag]

And after a giant laughing fit this afternoon while recreating favorite moments from Password and $24,000 Pyramid, I spilled coffee on my shirt.

I then tried to dab out the coffee stain with a damp napkin. It didn't work. Rather than walk around with a coffee stain right there in the middle of my, uh, windscreen, I thought it might be better to just cover it up.

We always have salt handy. So, BLAM. Salt. I mean, if you're going to have a stain on your shirt, or a stain that isn't quite gone and that part of the shirt is now warped from your attempts to remove the stain, and now it's worse than it was to begin with, why not just keep going.



I forgot it was there until later in the day when someone from another group came to talk to me about some wireframe copy - somewhat technical - and while he was trying to explain his thoughts on the matter, I noticed him look at my shirt and then a slightly puzzled expression came over his face as he tried like hell to stay on topic.

But you could tell his train was dangerously close to derailing. At the same moment I noticed that he noticed, I became riveted to his every word, hoping to increase the sense of pressure he might be feeling to not lose track and ask why the hell I had a salt packet taped to my shirt.

He managed to keep it together and upon subsequent trips to resolve the copy issue, avoided the salt area entirely and we had the matter solved in no time.

Jeff and I will need to pick up supplies for future stain masking occcasions. Like plastic flatware, paper plates, office-themed greeting cards, and some of those cafe table numbers.

Crispy Air

warehouse light in oakland

Walking to pick up lunch today, the air outside was different. It had that subtle crispness that means, summer is over. Fall was in the air. Bummed me out.

As a kid I hated this time of year - it meant going back to school. No more long days running around outside until it was dark - all day to do whatever I wanted... Now it means soon it'll be dark outside long before it's time to head home from work. Blah.

But now it's time again for the Race for the Cure. I wonder how long it'll take me this year to recover from running a 5K without any training. Any typical training, that is.

My regimen this year has consisted of running up & down Bart escalators, moving extremely heavy furniture around the house, countless loads of laundry (which includes stairs), shopping downtown, vacuuming, swiffering, catching rats, watching Deadwood, and kayaking. I'm totally ready.

Another Magic Box

Behold, its wonder:


This *new* magic box is just about as magical as the magic coffee box. This magic box allows us to put plates, glasses, mugs and silverware into it, hook it up to a water source, plug it into an outlet, and after pushing another magical button, it *washes* all those things for us and makes them sparkly clean.



The plates, glasses, mugs and silverware are kept hidden in this magic box while they're cleaned by magic elves, instead of piled up in my sink and stacked up on the dish rack to dry. It's a whole new way to live. I can't figure out why it took me this long to buy the damn thing.

Update - 09/06/06:
How the hell did I ever live without this? I was a fool - a FOOL - for not getting this years ago. Though the electrical circuits in the kitchen weren't upgraded until last year, I could have dealt with a few blown fuses now & then to have a sink that's always empty, a counter free of drying dishes, and all those dishes washed for me by this incredible modern miracle. Thank you, Lords of Cascade.

A Three Hour Tour

Now sit right back and you'll hear a tale...

It was an ordinary Monday - get up, drag self out of warm, cozy, dreamy slumber next to tiny kitten, drag self onto public transit and into the office, drag self from desk chair to meetings and back again to slog through projects that drag on for weeks and weeks - a regular day.

I'd planned to work late to get caught up on things, wearing my headphones to enjoy hits from the 70s, 80s, and even some from the 90s and beyond. As I was about to wrap up one more item on my list, I noticed my cell phone had a voicemail.

I called and listened to the message, from David: "Hi honey... flipped the boat... wet bag... is gone... heading back..." That's all I could make out.

He called only moments earlier but I missed it because I was bopping along to Dream Police. I dialed him right back and thankfully he answered. He'd been out kayaking (alone!) and managed to paddle from Jack London around the west end of the island, past the old Navy base and was now relaxing on Crown Memorial beach after flipping the boat a couple of times in the choppy bay.

To those of you unfamiliar with the area, that's a couple hours of straight paddling (at least). And at this time it was 4:50 p.m., and the shop we rent from closes at 6 p.m. And I could tell he was shredded from climbing back into the boat. It's not easy, especially by yourself.


about 7.5-8 miles overall
(Google map)

Good thing I have a station wagon! I was off like a prom dress. Had to stop at Pagano's on the way to pick up a collection of bungee cords, but I made it to Crown Memorial by 5:45. We strapped that sucker down and took off.

Crazy that they'd make a car with a swell rack on top, where one might want to strap down a small boat of some sort, and there are no easy ways to anchor the front & back of the boat underneath the car. But whatever.

Pulled up at the shop at 6:05 and the guy came out singing, "a three hour tour!" He couldn't have been nicer. He helped us get the boat down & had us on our way in just a few minutes.

The best part (for me) was leaving Jeff a note that said, "Gotta run, David's sinking in the Bay. See you tomorrow!"

New Work Week

Monday through Wednesday, and that's it. Weekend starts Wednesday night and lasts through Sunday night. I need four days off every week. Every. Week.

Not working from home on Thursday and Friday - those are part of the weekend, as in, Me Time. There's no "work" in weekend. Wend. Keen. Deek. Newk. But no "work."

Here's a question, why is ER still on the air? I thought the big shootout I heard about in last season's finale meant they were all killed. Even the hospital - shot dead.

What are they gonna do next? Put them all in a cruise ship ER with patients infected with smallpox that sails into the perfect storm with terrorists and a bomb on board?

Speaking of bad TV, how jacked is it that Mariski Hardtosay won an emmy and how is it Edie Falco wasn't nominated?

Can't believe they gave a statue to Alan Alda & not the guy who played the conniving, creepy president on 24. That makes no sense at all. Some of these must be charity awards.

Road Trip!

Just back from vacation, and already another road trip - to Redding! For a company meeting!
Let's Go!!! C'mon! GOOO!!!





ahh... space

dinner



quick shopping at the Vacaville outlets

'nana republic and... puma!!!

so dark, you could see every star in the sky, but here, enjoy these tail lights instead.

holiday out

jeff's breakfast joint

the lumberjack

cameron's omelette & jax

biscuits & gravy - much better w/a bite of sausage

my mushroom 'lette & browns

sundial bridge





under the anchor side

the deck is translucent



so wheel yourself the hell off the property if you're gonna smoke

riding back with the top down - only 100 degrees at 2pm - refreshing

racing home

snack buffet portrait - a lovely collection of salt, sugar and fat

nasty accident on the northbound lanes



waiting to arrive back in the cool Bay Area...

And we were home just after 5pm. 19 hours of fun, 3 hours of tear-inducing boredom.