Wednesday, November 29, 2006

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.

Monday, November 20, 2006

Kill the Poachers


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.

Saturday, November 18, 2006

Just Say Duuude... What?

MJ restaurant sign from

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?

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

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!

Sunday, November 05, 2006

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.

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

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.