Off-Piste

Bridge: burned

2009-11-13T10:56:00.001-08:00

I broke up with my therapist yesterday. It was one of the more difficult conversations I have had to have with someone in a while, not counting my attempts to update our address through the automated voice response systems at Comcast, Chase Bank and PG&E.

I had tried to break up with her last week and it didn't stick, so I found myself back there again this week to make it abundantly clear that this would be my last session.

She wanted to really understand my decision and what was driving it. This led to an exchange that was sort of like watching a hockey team warm up the goalie: shot after shot after shot, and me in the crease doing my best to deflect.

I made it clear that I didn't think I was "done" with therapy - I just didn't want to do anymore of it with her right now. Nonetheless, she saw ample reason to question the wisdom of my decision. And her inside knowledge of, you know, all my vulnerable spots, insecurities and weaknesses made her assault especially potent.

"In my experience pregnancy can bring up a lot of issues around your own relationship with your mother..."

"Do you really think it wise to discontinue our work together during this incredibly tumultuous and challenging time in your life?"

"Aren't you interested in exploring {insert major life issue} further?"

And my favorite: "You know, as I see it you're really just getting started."

At the end of the 50 minutes I left and will not go back. On my way out the door, her parting words were "My door's always open! Call any time!"

Unlikely.

Halfway to somewhere

2009-11-12T21:45:00.000-08:00

As of Monday this week, Belvedere is officially half-baked. 20 weeks ago he began, and 20 weeks from now, give or take, he will be, well, fully cooked.*

As far as we know, he is developing well. The ultrasound pictures revealed all the right things in the right places and we are choosing to forget the creepy 3D ultrasound pictures that make him look like a very small old man.

I haven't gotten too much advice on my pregnancy so far but I have gotten a few tips from our friend Nelson, often on the potentially serious consequences of poor diet during pregnancy:

"If you eat too much high fructose corn syrup then will it turn out to be a Republican?"

"The only risk of drinking a glass of wine while you're pregnant is that the baby will turn out to be kind of French."

*It's a boy! I may not have mentioned that yet. Yay! Name suggestions are welcome.

The space heaters in the closet should have been a clue

2009-11-10T22:16:00.000-08:00

We're getting settling into our new place and into a new cold hard reality: it's cold.*

I guess we shouldn't be surprised: it is much bigger, has higher ceilings, and was built in 1906.

It is, nonetheless, a brutal new world

We are adapting but it isn't pretty. I've taken to wearing several bulky layers and, when available, a hood. Eric wears a hat indoors all the time now. I think it might actually be colder in the apartment than it is outside.

But I fear the worst is yet to come. We may have to become "robe and slipper" people.

You know - slovenly, smelling of stale coffee and bad breath, and always scratching something.**

At least it isn't haunted. That we know of. Yet.

*When I told my brother "We love our new apartment, there's just one thing we're having a hard time with" his response was "It's haunted?"
**No offense to any robe and slipper people out there.

Further warning signs of adulthood

2009-11-09T22:04:00.000-08:00

In what might be a sign of adulthood, or what might just be a sign of being really disorganized my whole life, I fulfilled a long-time dream this past weekend: I got a proper jewelry box.

Previous jewelry organization methods generally involved plastic baggies, small pouches, and a bunch of small colored boxes. Actually looking through my jewelry to see what might be a good choice that day was so challenging and time-consuming that I basically just started wearing the same two pairs of earrings, rotating from one to the other in the interest of variety.

In going through my "jewelry collection" to organize it into my new box, I unearthed all manner of items I had no idea I actually possessed including not one but two stopped Swatch watches, one of which was missing the face altogether, some plastic jewelry that was literally disintegrating and was sticky to the touch in a way that was impossible to get off of my fingers with soap, and one of what used to be a pair of earrings shaped like a tiny naked woman in "dancer's pose." Wonder why I stopped wearing those.

Having set up the new jewelry box feels like a major life upgrade. I am now ready to dazzle the world with my new, well, actually old, jewelry.

The Connecticut Show

2009-11-08T19:57:00.000-08:00

This has been the first week that the Connecticut Show is on the air (or, more accurately, the first week that we are getting to watch it). For a start, it is much more family friendly than the Clementina Show.

The Connecticut Show mostly features the #22 bus. This is apparently one of the more regular buses and it runs every 7-8 minutes from 5am until 1am, and only slightly less frequently during those off hours.

It is an electric bus which gets power through cables above the street, to which it connects with these big pincer-looking things.

From our bedroom, buses slowing down to a stop sound a lot like when Obi Wan Kenobi* disables the Death Star's tractor beam. Buses pulling away sound like that but in reverse.

A few nights in, Eric had a dream in which he was looking at a wall with two numbers like big counters on it. The number on the left was 308, and this was the number of buses that had already gone by. On the right, the number was 3041 and this was the number of buses still remaining to go by that night. I sort of feel like that says it all.

Other than that, and the whistle from the Caltrain, all is quiet and we are not yet finding that boring.

*Yes, I had to look up how to spell that.

Farewell Clementina Show

2009-11-06T09:40:00.000-08:00

As of November 1, The Clementina Show is no longer being broadcast on a channel that we receive. It isn't off the air, we just don't get to watch it anymore.

I wish there were a word that expressed the feeling of no longer experiencing something horrible that you don't really miss, exactly, but still feel an unexpected affection for. This is the word I would use to describe how I feel about moving off of Clementina St.

True to form, The Clementina Show season finale was impressive. The night before we moved out, on our way to dinner we walked past a woman wearing a tiara who was squatting and peeing through her pants onto the sidewalk.

For our farewell dinner we went to check out a new fancy sausage place called "Show Dogs" that had just opened up two blocks from our Clementina joint. While we were paying for our fancy dogs, urine-reeking tiara lady showed up to "trick or treat," but instead of grabbing a Starburst from the proffered bucket she reached over the bucket, into the tip jar and grabbed a wad of bills. When the woman behind the counter protested, the woman paused, smiled dementedly, put a single dollar back in and then ran out of the restaurant.*

The next morning, as we left to get the truck for our move, we noticed some fresh human poo and other goodies on our sidewalk. There were also some people doing some form of hard drugs in a car parked across the street.

We had no second thoughts about our move.

*When we left, Eric dropped a few bucks in the tip jar, saying "Don't let the trick-or-treaters get it!"

This year we even roasted the seeds!

2009-10-30T19:50:00.000-07:00

Like last year, this past week Eric pressured me into using Spookmaster "trace & carve" designs to carve pumpkins this year. I went along with it and have to admit, once again the results are pretty impressive.

Here's our pumpkins! Eric did the skull, I did the witch*. Happy Halloween!

*Buaaaa-ha-ha-ha-ha!

I demand my share of the life-saving potion!

2009-10-29T22:44:00.000-07:00

The H1N1 vaccine arrived in the Bay Area today and Eric, myself, and thousands of other pregnant women, their partners, parents of small children, others who fall into the high priority category, and people so desperate to get theirs they were pretending to fall into the high priority category lined up to get jabbed.

When we arrived, the line was out the door, through the parking lot, down the bock, around the corner and then down* the next block. Here we are at the end of the line. We got there at 6pm, an hour before the clinic was scheduled to close, and there were easily 200 people in line ahead of us. It seemed sensible to walk to the front and see what chance we had of actually getting the vaccination before deciding to stand in line for an hour, maybe more.

The nurse who was managing the line was actually just about to count back in the line and hand out cards to the people that she estimated would be able to receive the vaccine that day. They had plenty of vaccine, the challenge was not having enough people to administer it quickly enough to meet the demand. (Self-administration was not an option.)

I walked with her back up the line as she counted and as she would point to someone and say a number, at least one out of every three people would blurt out "I'm pregnant!" with a desperate, scared look in their eyes, or "I've been here since 3:30 with my kids you can't turn us away!" or "Gimme gimme gimme!" - this just at hearing a number and having no idea what it even means.

Her count got to the end of the line with numbers to spare, suggesting that all of us were "in" for that day. Common sense suggested otherwise: it was about 6:25pm at this point, and the line had barely moved since we had arrived. We figured it was worth the wait.**

At about 6:45pm, with the line still essentially unmoved, another nurse came down the line asking that just the pregnant women come forward -that we were the only ones who would still receive the vaccine that day. I eagerly skipped to the front of the line, trying not to look the people who had been there for three hours or more or their children in the eyes. I feared them.

When the head of the clinic came out and officially told people they had to come back the next day, I feared that this was going to turn into a very gory pre-Halloween special event. After assuring everyone that they would get priority the next day and that there was plenty of vaccine to go around, the doctor apologized sincerely and then headed quickly inside and called the police.

The line did not disperse. People continued to stand there.

Meanwhile, inside the clinic in line for my shot, I sweet-talked the nurse into letting Eric come wait with me inside, and then, since he was there, why not just give him the vaccine too? They did.

We left feeling like we had stolen something.

It was 7:15pm when we left and the line was still there. The police were encouraging people to go home, the clinic was closed. I don't know what happened next.

*This block was a hill, so it was actually up the block, not down it

**"We've waited more than two hours to ride roller coasters. I suppose another half hour can't hurt," Eric reasoned.

Then we got married

2009-10-27T21:49:00.000-07:00

This is the balloon in which we were married. (Pretty in its own right, and infinitely better than the balloon that launched along with us which looked like the Puerto Rican flag.)
This is the view from several hundred feet up, just after dawn.

This is us listening to Scott the Balloon Captain (and self-proclaimed "balloonatic") as he read us the ceremony.

When we landed, we were married. Eric helped me out of the basket while the balloon crew packed the balloon back up.

It was a wonderful, dreamy, perfect day.

Me-to-be

2009-10-21T10:23:00.000-07:00

As I pick the last of the nail polish off my fingernails today, I am relishing memories of my bachelorette party from a week and a half ago.

There's something that feels kind of fun and subversive about being pregnant at your own bachelorette party. Nobody suspects that the bride-to-be is also a mother-to-be.

At the spa where we got massages, the therapist who knew she was doing a pre-natal massage literally went through everyone else in our group before looking questioningly at me - with my hideous mock-veil headband and plastic "I'm the Bride" pink sash - to confirm that it was me.

At the nail salon, the owner stopped by to say hello and after I gave a somewhat saucy reply to one of his questions his playful response was something along the lines of "And you haven't had several glasses of champagne today!" I just smiled. The sparkling cider can really go to my head.

I had a fabulous time and owe a huge thanks to Jamaica and Nonoko for their exceptional planning and incredible generosity. You guys rock!

On handwashing

2009-10-20T13:39:00.000-07:00

Recently, in spite of my better judgment, I have started washing my hands regularly.

You're probably wondering if there's a typo in that sentence. There isn't. I actually make a point of not washing my hands too often. I have a theory, which I expect will soon be supported by scientific studies if it isn't yet, that frequent exposure to very small amounts of pathogens actually keeps me healthier rather than putting my health at risk. Judging by the woman next to me on my flight home from Vegas the other day who applied Purell to her hands literally every 3-4 minutes without leaving her seat or actually touching anything, I may be the world's only germophile, standing against legions of germophobes*.

But, there are other considerations now that I am pregnant. Getting sick has more significant consequences now than it would if it were just me moping around the house blowing my nose and whining. Even more seriously, H1N1, everyone's favorite swine flu, a) has a frighteningly high fatality rate for pregnant woman and b) is all over the Bay Area (oh no that's where I live!).

So, grudgingly, I am now very conscientiously washing my hands A LOT. And I am more aware of germs than ever. For example, last week I volunteered at Stewart Brand's Long Now talk where they fed we volunteers pizza before making us work. I had washed my hands and was happily munching my pizza when a late-arriving volunteer came over to introduce himself and offered to shake my hand while I was eating with my hands. Normal Ellie would have set down the pizza, given him a good nice-to-meet-you shake and thoughtlessly gone back to licking pizza sauce off my fingers.

Germ-aware Ellie looked him in the face and said "I can't touch your hand right now, I'm eating. You know, germs."

What have I become?

I guess a lot of things change when you have someone else's well-being to worry about, and already I am making different decisions about how much to sleep, what (and how much) to eat and how to deal with work and stress. I guess the good news is that kids are actually extremely germy, so my germ-limited life is probably going to be short-lived whether I like it or not.

Bring on the (non-fatal, non-permanently damaging) germs!

*I think my typo "germophone" in the first draft of the post is funny.

On Angels' Landing

2009-10-19T08:21:00.000-07:00

Since last Wednesday, I've been in Zion National Park (without internet access, hence my absence. This is the second week in a row that I've been out of town for several days but I won't be disappearing again for a while, I promise).

This was the Moss family annual National Park trip and I joined my aunts Barbara and Jane and their brothers, my uncles, Bill and Fred, at Zion for a long and very enjoyable weekend in southern Utah.

The focus of the trips has always included wonderful and challenging hikes, and in the past has included the Grand Canyon (to the river and back all in one shot, against the stern warnings of signs everywhere), Half Dome at Yosemite, Brown Mountain at Glacier National Park, and many others. This year, the Angels' Landing hike was the marquis hike and a notable highlight.

It is worth noting that I am the only person in this group of five who does not have a crippling fear of heights. This is important with regards to the Angels' Landing trail because it is noted for its steep drop-offs and for a half-mile section of trail which follows a 'knife's-edge ridge' to the final destination. To aid hikers in not falling off, the National Park Service has thoughtfully installed a set of chains that you can hang on to as you scramble your way to the end.

It is a spectacular hike.

Here is where the 'knife's-edge ridge' section begins. Note the evocative warning sign:

This picture, showing the first section with chains, is taken from a spot affectionately known as "Chickenshit Ledge," which is also where I reluctantly left Fred and Jane (in the company of many others who were not up to the thrilling endeavor with the chains). We three did a worthy job together scaling over 21 switchbacks and nearly 1500 feet, and it seemed cruel that vertigo as opposed to lack of fitness or ability would prevent them from getting to see the full panoramic views at the end. They were bummed for sure but were also happy to sit there, eat peanut m&m's and tell passersby that they had sent the pregnant woman on without them.

This is a view of the ridge that leads to the end of the trail: look closely and you can see people walking all the way out to the end of the line (the left side of this big standalone ridge rock).

Wow!

Needless to say, I made it all the way and very much enjoyed doing it. For better or worse, I am totally unphased by heights and have no trouble at all walking with no handrail across a 36 inch wide span of rock with 1200 foot drops on either side. I'm not sure this is necessarily a trait that promotes survival, but for Angels' Landing it did the trick.

What remains to be seen is if I am as strong and fearless next year carrying a six-month old baby.

Up up and away!

2009-10-13T19:21:00.000-07:00

On October 25, which is not far from now, Eric and I are getting married in a hot air balloon. It might look something like this:

This will be the official wedding ceremony and the captain of the balloon will officiate for us somewhere over Sonoma County. We are honoring all superstitions we can think of in the hope of getting great weather that day, as it is quite a weather dependent sort of event.

(It is worth noting that the weather in San Francisco today was a lot like the scene at the end of Karate Kid II. I was convinced that the tree in front of our place was going down more than once, but most of it is still there.)

In case you were wondering, there are maternity wedding dresses to be had out there, ranging in price from $39.99 to much much more. I bought a 'regular' wedding dress and am probably the first bride in history to ask the saleswoman, "Do you think I can gain five pounds and still fit into this dress?" Currently, I am on track to look neither normal nor pregnant, merely Ellie Extra Chunky for this wedding. Eh, I'll take it!

The balloon only holds eight people plus the captain, so this is going to be a pretty intimate event with just our parents and my brother joining the festivities on board. Anyone who knows me knows that I am not capable of celebrating any milestone, be it birthday, President's Day or any given Friday, on just one day, or even within one week. This is certainly no different. We are going to hold a big bash wedding party next August to celebrate with all of the friends and family (and our new baby) who won't be with us in the balloon.*

*OK, I guess technically the baby will be with us in the balloon.

Off-off-piste

2009-10-12T09:56:00.000-07:00

In June 2008 I started this blog, which I called Off-Piste as a nod to taking a different road, or rather, paving an totally unknown road, into the next chapter of my life. I ended my very first blog post with:

So there I was: jobless, newly certified as an Ashtanga yoga teacher, shacking up with a guy I've been dating for about 5 minutes in a sublet we can't afford next to AT&T Park in San Francisco, and I've just decided to move from Washington DC where I've lived for three years to see what sort of life I can make for myself in San Francisco....

What happened next has been well chronicled in the posts that followed: we found a place to live in which we urban camped for a while, I started a company with a guy in DC, which failed shortly thereafter, leaving me unemployed again. In spite of being unemployed, Eric and I lived a full and celebratory life: we took a number of wonderful trips including Joshua Tree National Park and a week in Maui, we went skiing in Tahoe several times, we climbed Mt Shasta, and we explored the city and surrounding areas by bicycle, on foot, in kayaks and even on a motorcycle. We spent more than our fair share of time in wine country. I did eventually get a job, my 'dream job' in fact, and I rejoined the working world this past March, which has brought adventures of its own.

One evening in July, as Eric and I were enjoying "retirement" (we try to take at least a few minutes of our retirement every day just in case we don't get to retire later in life for any number of reasons), I commented to Eric that life at that moment in time was as easy as it will ever get. It was so simple! So blissful, so peaceful, so easy.

God or some other deity or universal life force with a mischievous sense of humor must have overheard me because the very next day I found out I was pregnant.

It was without a doubt the most exciting and wonderful news I have ever received and it was also perhaps the biggest single shock of my life.

Apparently, this is what living Off-Piste is all about: we're doing this a little differently. And the remarkable thing is that, while this wasn't "the plan" (possibly because there was no "plan") it is actually probably the best way to start the next chapter of our lives together that we could have come up with.

Telling friends and family has been a lot of fun, and many have been as caught off guard by this news as we were. When Eric told friend Anne from grad school that he's going to be a Papa her response was:
"You're getting a dog?!"

When I shared the news at work, it disqualified me for a long-term project they had been moments away from staffing me on. The colleague who would have managed me on that project told me:
"I have had a lot of people do a lot of things to avoid working with me but you are the first one who has gotten pregnant to stay off my team."*

And so, we continue Off-Piste. If I were starting this blog today, it might read something like this:

So there I was, not much more than six months into my dream job and already nearly four months pregnant, two weeks away from getting married in a hot air balloon, and seriously questioning the wisdom of becoming parents in our teeny fourth floor walk-up apartment in a neighborhood where the sidewalks often feature human poo, among other things...

This is going to be interesting!

*My response: "If having unprotected sex is what I need to do to stay away from you, I'm willing to do it." I think this made him uncomfortable.

Weasels playing yahtzee is also a favorite

2009-10-08T23:57:00.001-07:00

I'm in Stinson Beach for a work offsite Wednesday through Friday of this week. We are staying in beach houses that all have their own flavor. I was pleased to discover not only glass dolphin figurines in the bathroom but this, the little know Japanese version of Dogs Playing Poker.

List of things I should know but don't

2009-10-06T07:54:00.000-07:00

Having biked around San Francisco for a total of over four years now, I tend to think of myself as someone who knows the flattest routes for getting around the city, avoiding the worst of the hills.

I was recently proven dramatically wrong when a friend of ours, having heard about the route we took to bike from SOMA to Golden Gate Park on Sunday, said, incredulously:

"You don't know about The Wiggle?"

No, we don't.

But now we do. The Wiggle is the flattest path through the city, in particular going from SOMA to Golden Gate Park. This discovery is akin to finding out, after a year and a half of walking up and down four flights of stairs every day, that our apartment building has an elevator*.

Eric said it best in his response to the friend's follow up email with additional info about The Wiggle:

"I can't believe we've been getting all that unnecessary exercise! I'm definitely going to wiggle from now on."

*I remain reasonably sure that it does not.

Still doesn't make it OK to list a one bedroom with a "nook" as a two bedroom

2009-10-05T10:44:00.000-07:00

We are looking for a new place to live and I checked out a place on Saturday that was listed on craigslist through a local broker named Gavin Coombs. His listings are all over craigslist and though I have never met him in person, I have heard he is quite the local character. Apparently he is particularly well known for his prominent chin.

In confirming the appointment to view the place (one of his helpers would open the door for us but would not know anything more than the apartment number), his email included the following third person reference which I felt was worth sharing.

"Circle back with broker G if you have any follow-up questions or if you'd like to rent after viewing."

I'm almost tempted to start referring to myself as Consultant E but it doesn't have quite the same ring to it.

Yogi E?
Not quite.

Blogger E?
Hmmm.

Hardly strictly the best-kept secret in SF

2009-10-04T20:40:00.000-07:00

You may remember Hardly Strictly Bluegrass from last year when Eric and I had to hang our bikes from a tree to lock them up because it was so crowded and there were so few places to put bikes.

To give you a sense of how much more crowded it was this year, we got there relatively early and we had to lock our bikes hanging up in trees three blocks away because the trees, benches, signs, everything was so covered in bikes. It resembled a pestilence of some sort, actually. An example:

The festival lineup gets more and more impressive every year and this year was no exception. We saw Gillian Welch, Earl Scruggs, The Del McCoury Band, Aimee Mann, Doc Watson, and others and the artists love to bring each other up on stage, so we also saw cameo appearances by Emmy Lou Harris and the Old Crow Medicine Show. (There is an even longer and even more impressive list of people we didn't see.)

One thing that felt different this year from last was the crowd. San Francisco crowds are always completely weird (par for the course: we saw two people, not together, wearing red clown noses) but there was something a little off about the crowd gathered this weekend. A little crazier, a little edgier; more than a few of them really seemed like they could be running meth labs somewhere in the outskirts of the city. For example, the people we sat next to today included a guy they all called Roach who was twitchy and kept trying to sell us cans of Budweiser for $2, a skinny bald guy in cutoff shorts and a hoodie who brought not one but two plastic bottles of Dawn to fulfill some ill-conceived bubble-blowing vision, and a woman in her early twenties with pretty blond hair and too few teeth for someone of her age.

They got to be tiresome neighbors after a while, and we were in the shade which was easily 15 degrees cooler than in the sun, so we left those creepy tweakers behind and moved to a sunnier spot, ate some pizza, and enjoyed the show (both of humanity and of music).

Memo To Everyone Who Is Trying to Kill Me

2009-10-02T19:28:00.000-07:00

Attention all operators of motor vehicles in the city of San Francisco:

I kindly request that you please signal when you are going to make a right turn so that bikers like me can go around you on the left side. If flicking the little lever to use your signal is too much effort, perhaps just a brief flick of the eyes to the rearview mirror so that you don't turn right into me? Is that too much to ask to avoid senselessly murdering someone?

Further, I would ask you to please refrain from double parking in the bike lane on busy streets. I can understand how convenient that must be for you but it is a real hazard to bikers.

Also, would you be so kind as to look for approaching bicyclists before suddenly pulling out of a parking spot with no signal or any indication of imminent movement? I would be so grateful, really.

And finally, please, please, look for bicyclists in the bike lane before suddenly swerving over into it and almost hitting me. (Taxis, this applies double to you.) Do you have any idea how scary that is when you do that? If you did, you would understand why I have to yell at you and maybe give you the finger. And why I have to swear extra when I can see that you are inevitably talking on your cell phone. (You know that's illegal, right?)

Though you act as though I were, I am not in fact invisible when I put on my helmet, roll up my right pant leg and hop on my bike to ride to and from work.

I beg you to spend the infinitesimally small amount of extra energy and attention required to be more biker aware as you drive around your thousands of pounds of motor vehicle.

7:15pm, Thursday evening

2009-10-01T19:50:00.000-07:00

[Eric and I, sitting on the couch. Windows are open. There's a ruckus from the street. Eric stands up and peers out the window.]

"It's those Mexicans again, riding little bicycles, drinking beer and singing," Eric reports.

"Which ones?"

"The guy who wears the Steelers jersey, and the older guy who called you 'churro.' "

"Oh yeah, those guys."

I've heard Jupiter is overrated anyway

2009-09-30T16:56:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday night was one of those nights that didn't turn out quite how we had imagined it.

We had a reservation to camp out in a small regional park which happens to be right near Oakland and even more importantly right near the Chabot* Space Center and Observatory. Chabot is particularly neat because up on the roof they have several enormous telescopes that they open up to the public on Friday and Saturday nights after dark.

Our brilliant plan was in place: go set up camp, drive over to check out the telescopes, and then head back to the campsite for a fire, some late-night smores and to sleep under the stars. What a great evening!

Almost. A few unexpected snags got in the way, some of which were my fault. Others of which were not. Most of the ones that were my fault involve us getting lost, which we did more than once, and which I will not discuss in any detail here for obvious reasons.

Thus the story begins while we were turning around and trying to get on the right highway heading the right way, and I called the campsite to confirm that the google maps directions were actually going to work. They weren't: it hadn't taken into account the different gates and the one we had to enter at for the campground was on the far side of the park. Further, the "road" that google said we could drive on through the park to get to the observatory was a phantom and we would have to drive out and around to get there. Then the final blow: gate to the campsite locked at 10pm. No entry after that even if all your stuff was there.

It became clear that we had to choose: telescopes or camping? Which did we want more?

Telescopes.

So we turned around again and went away from the campground towards the telescopes. We got there just before dark and after chasing exiting families around the parking garage trying to get their parking spots (we were not the only ones doing this, and we were clearly not the best at it as we kept getting beat and missing out on the spots), we finally secured a parking spot and headed up to check out the scopes.

As we could have suspected from the parking garage mayhem, we were not the only people who had had this idea. There were hundreds of people up there, most of them in one of the lines for the various telescopes. We immediately got into a line, and then started wondering exactly how long this line was going to take. It was very dark. We stood there and the line moved very, very slowly. The longer we waited the hungrier we got, but also the more invested we got and so we stayed and stayed well past any rational person's willingness to wait in line to see...a star cluster. That's right: we spent an hour standing in line to look through a little hole and see a small grouping of bright white dots against a black background.

Only too late did we learn that one of the other lines was for a telescope that was looking at Jupiter.

On the way out there was also a small telescope set up that was looking at the Moon. We each took a peak and were totally blown away at how clearly you could see detail on the Moon's surface. It was amazing. It almost made up for waiting an hour to see a cluster.

Starving and disappointed, we proceeded to get lost on the way home and ended the night eating pizza at 11pm at a place near our apartment. Then we unpacked our camping stuff and went to sleep in our own bed. We'd seen enough stars for one night anyway.

*Sha-BO, in case you were tempted to make it rhyme with the Vermont cheddar cheese makers.

It must be 4pm

2009-09-29T16:15:00.000-07:00

My office is on the top floor of my building and it has a skylight that opens onto the building's roof deck above. My office mate and I keep it open for fresh air and so that lots of extra dust and dirt can accumulate on our desks each week.

For the past week, there has been a new ritual as well: an unknown lady who works in the building and wears high heels has gotten in the habit of going up to the roof deck every afternoon right around 4pm for a smoke, a chat on the phone and to pace loudly just over my head.

Clip clop, clip clop, back and forth she goes like a chatty Clydesdale.

Rather than sit at my desk and roll my eyes in the direction of the roofdeck, I've decided it's a perfect opportunity to take a walk around the office, get the latest news, and snoop for snacks. Today I'm on the hunt for dried mango.

Things you find in the forest

2009-09-28T14:53:00.000-07:00

Eric and I escaped the blistering heat of the sun-powered oven in which we live to go for a hike in the woods yesterday. We decided on a hike that starts up on a ridge on Mt Tam and descends into Muir Woods, from whence you must then climb out. The main attraction of this hike: trees. Eric estimates we saw about 40,000 of them, give or take.

I don't usually love canyon-style hikes (down first, then up) because it can be hard to pace yourself, and whereas one* might find it tempting to bail out early on a summit, you have no such option when up is where the car is.

We didn't see many other people on the trail, which was somewhat surprising given what a glorious day it was. We did, however (or perhaps as a result) see some fun wildlife.

At our first break on the way down we noticed, after a moment of standing there, that there were honey bees everywhere and they seemed to be coming and going from a large tree right near us. "A treehive!" exclaimed Eric excitedly. We did not try to get any of the honey even though (/because) in my black t-shirt I could easily have been mistaken for a bear.
Woody woodpecker made an appearance during a long flat stretch as we loped along a ridge. We heard the characteristic wood-pecking not far away and saw there on the tree ol' Woody knocking his head against the branch. Very cool, and only slightly disappointing that we didn't hear his characteristic "Ha-ha-ha-haaa-ha!"
A large-sounding rustling noise in the brush put us both on the alert. Insurgent? No - a small buck deer who had scampered up a hillside as he heard us approaching. Once he was about 15 feet up the hill from us he stopped and turned and looked at us, looking very comfortable. Eric waved. "He thinks he's hidden," he observed. "We can see you!" he called to the deer. Deer just stared at us. We waved again and then headed on our way when it was clear the deer wouldn't be providing any further entertainment.
Towards the end of the hike we passed a group of four young Asian men who were sashaying delicately down the trail giggling and squealing. "Gay-sians!" whispered Eric after we said hello and passed. At first I thought he said "Geishas" which I also thought was funny.

It was a very satisfying hike.

*Not me, but other people.

Pear Guy strikes again

2009-09-23T11:38:00.000-07:00

It being Tuesday yesterday, I went to get the fruit, as I do.

I was greeted once again by the new young fellow who gave me the free pear last time, and we started with the same ritual as last week. "Your box sucks - have one of these special pears." I thanked him and proceeded to load the rest of my fruit into my backpack. He stood there watching me, and another young gentleman colleague came over the watch the unparalleled drama of me piling peaches, Asian pears and pluots into my bag.

Pear Guy's monologue about my fruit box continued this time.

"Oh look," he went on, "look how they gave you a whole bunch of really small peaches this week. They must think you have really small teeth."

Courtesy laugh.

"Or maybe they think they're for all your kids. They don't know that you're a single lady who..."

"Stop it man!" hissed the colleague. "Dude, look at her ring!"

"Oh yeah, look at that. That's quite a ring. What does this guy do anyway?" Pear Guy was not letting up.

"He's a scientist," I offered.

"What kind of scientist?" they wanted to know.

"A virologist."

Mercifully, the fruit was now safely stowed in my bag and I zipped it up, thanked them for their help and headed for the door.

"Watch out for H1N1!" Pear Guy called after me.

Homeless on homeless

2009-09-22T19:21:00.000-07:00

Standing on the street waiting to see an apartment, Eric and I watched the humanity show at Church and Market.

There was a homeless man collapsed on the street about 25 feet away. He was clutching a fifth of something that appeared to be empty. It was either the contents of the bottle or some other thin liquid that streamed away from the middle of his prone body and down the sidewalk. He was either doing pilates or struggling to sit up: he kept lifting his head and shoulders off the ground, hovering for a moment, and then collapsing back down.

All flavors of hipster, fresh young ingenue, steampunk, angry older Asian woman, and muscly gay man streamed past as we continued to wait to see the apartment.

A homeless looking fellow wearing a too large suit and untied sneakers walked by and as he walked past the prone homeless man he gave him a good swift kick.

Then, not more than two minutes later, an older homeless man doing a good job of staggering down the block, paused his bobbing and weaving to yell at his collapsed comrade.

"What is it about passed out homeless people that makes other homeless people so mad?" wondered Eric aloud.

I called the guy who was supposed to be showing us the apartment. He was flaking on us. We merged into the parade of humanity and went on our way.