Tuesday was Paul's birthday.
Daniel was (is) out of town all this week, so we decided to celebrate Paul's birthday on Friday.
So, Friday night, we had a lovely dinner with Daniel, Jesse, and Amy, at Sea Salt in Berkeley. Being a no-fish person, the dinner fare didn't do much for me, but the deserts were teh yummy. I drank a whole bunch, which led to...
me waking up Saturday with a mysterious headache and icky stomach. How does this keep happening to me?!?!
The mini-hangover wore off just in time for us to get a call from Jesse, to come visit him at his new digs on the Alameda Naval Base (or whatever it used to be).
After checking out their new place and watching Amy shove food into Quinn's mouth, we all took off for a wine and art fair thingy in Alameda. Which was fun. I mean, the people watching was pretty good, and Jesse knows people, people who have wine. We proceeded to get loaded, and then had a big-ass lunch. Their house at the Naval base is pretty cool because there's a lot of open space to walk the dog and throw things for her. Also, some wild geese and rabbits for her to chase. We had to get out of there to return to the City in time to get to bed early because...
Sunday we woke up at 5am to go down to our assigned corner in Golden Gate Park to direct traffic for the San Francisco Marathon. When we got there, we discovered that we'd somehow gotten the one station where there would be no action. The route didn't even come to the intersection we were on, and the roads were closed getting to where we were. A few cars got through and we turned them back, but other than that, we lay in the grass, watched the ducks in the pond, listened to birds singing, homeless people fighting... It was relaxing and nice, other than the 5am aspect.
After the free food and *Tecate* we got for volunteering, we returned for a quick nap, then started walking all over the City. Which is one of the very best ways to spend a nice sunny day like that. We saw awesome buildings in Pacific Heights, and even went to people-watch Marina Chicks. Yes, it's all true. Oversized sunglasses and flip-flops. Blech.
Last night we had more dinner for Paul's actual birthday. Eccolo on 4th Street, which we've wondered about on many occasions. The dinner was fine, service good, but the standout was the warm chocolate cake. OMG.
This week will be a blur while I get ready for this weekend's events and needs.
Paul is the best, by the way. That is all.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Supperclub
I took Paul out to Supperclub last night.
This was our second time, and we had to go because:
a.) Marisa was singing
b.) Every course of the meal was to have chocolate as an ingredient
c.) I totally needed to go someplace nice with Paul, since I've been working too much on this James stuff.
Dinner was awesome. The performances were great, the room was great, the company was great, the food was great. The Black Cherry drop cocktail was great. The only thing that wasn't great was the service. I hate to say this, because, I mean, the waitress was *nice,* and personable, and interactive, but when it came to the waitressing part, she lacked.
The first problem was that we couldn't get water. When we sat down, we were asked what kind of water we wanted. We all(there were 8 people, two at each table, that we knew) wanted still.
So still water came. ONE carafe, set at the middle table. (we're still not sure how we got three tables for two parties of four)
We asked for water again. There was popcorn on the tables with bittersweet chocolate powder. It was tasty, but made me more thirsty. No water. The food started coming out, and I asked the other server for water. The waitress took my order for a bottle of wine.
The water didn't come. I asked a third person for water, now that I had my first course and nothing to drink still. I tried to get Paul to go out into the bar to get us water.
The wine came, but it was the wrong bottle. How about some water?
Finally the water came, and then the correct wine.
Then wonderful food and performance, including the waitress dropping and breaking a glass. I can't really complain about that; I too have dropped and broken things. The waitress was nice, and energetic.
Marisa was awesome; she just keeps getting better and better.
Then some more silliness with an extra glass of wine, and the clincher was that, despite the fact that we were clearly four separate couples (in fact on two separate reservations of 4 tops), the waitress clumped the bill for eight people onto one bill. It took me a while to figure this out; I thought she was just forgetting to bring us our bill. The only upside to doing this, as far as I can tell, is that by making us one large party, they add that automatic gratuity. What. Ever. I'd tip more if you hadn't, and especially if I hadn't had to ask everyone else for water so many times. I mean, nice person and all, but just not really cut out to waitress I guess.
Hot tip for Supperclub: put a carafe of water on every table before you seat people. It's easy, and it will make people happy.
Other than service glitches, everything else was great. REALLY, if you are thinking of a big splurge meal, this is an awesome place for it. You will leave feeling so very relaxed and happy, and well-fed.
Anyway, after Laguna Seca, I just really shouldn't go anywhere without my Camelbak.
This was our second time, and we had to go because:
a.) Marisa was singing
b.) Every course of the meal was to have chocolate as an ingredient
c.) I totally needed to go someplace nice with Paul, since I've been working too much on this James stuff.
Dinner was awesome. The performances were great, the room was great, the company was great, the food was great. The Black Cherry drop cocktail was great. The only thing that wasn't great was the service. I hate to say this, because, I mean, the waitress was *nice,* and personable, and interactive, but when it came to the waitressing part, she lacked.
The first problem was that we couldn't get water. When we sat down, we were asked what kind of water we wanted. We all(there were 8 people, two at each table, that we knew) wanted still.
So still water came. ONE carafe, set at the middle table. (we're still not sure how we got three tables for two parties of four)
We asked for water again. There was popcorn on the tables with bittersweet chocolate powder. It was tasty, but made me more thirsty. No water. The food started coming out, and I asked the other server for water. The waitress took my order for a bottle of wine.
The water didn't come. I asked a third person for water, now that I had my first course and nothing to drink still. I tried to get Paul to go out into the bar to get us water.
The wine came, but it was the wrong bottle. How about some water?
Finally the water came, and then the correct wine.
Then wonderful food and performance, including the waitress dropping and breaking a glass. I can't really complain about that; I too have dropped and broken things. The waitress was nice, and energetic.
Marisa was awesome; she just keeps getting better and better.
Then some more silliness with an extra glass of wine, and the clincher was that, despite the fact that we were clearly four separate couples (in fact on two separate reservations of 4 tops), the waitress clumped the bill for eight people onto one bill. It took me a while to figure this out; I thought she was just forgetting to bring us our bill. The only upside to doing this, as far as I can tell, is that by making us one large party, they add that automatic gratuity. What. Ever. I'd tip more if you hadn't, and especially if I hadn't had to ask everyone else for water so many times. I mean, nice person and all, but just not really cut out to waitress I guess.
Hot tip for Supperclub: put a carafe of water on every table before you seat people. It's easy, and it will make people happy.
Other than service glitches, everything else was great. REALLY, if you are thinking of a big splurge meal, this is an awesome place for it. You will leave feeling so very relaxed and happy, and well-fed.
Anyway, after Laguna Seca, I just really shouldn't go anywhere without my Camelbak.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Dry Lake
We got up at the asscrack of dawn Saturday to go to MotoGP.
Last year, we got there and spent an hour waiting to get in. I swore I would not return. Laguna Seca cannot get their shit together.
I lied, and I did return.
This time, the line moved OK getting in, but once in the gate, we rode around the entire goddam place trying to find where we were supposed to park. I know, some places you go, they do fancy things like post big signs, but not here! They wanted us to have a tour of the place first. We drove every direction, and yes, I stopped several times to get directions from the various traffic directors. They directed me a lot of places. The last place was to the parking area. Good job, dumbasses!
Fine, so we're parked and on our way finally. We got a bunch of beer (Porter, even, not some pissy frat boy shite) and felt a little better. Oh, yeah, it's HOT. It's going to be even hotter, we know this. I've camped in 110+ weather before, and this doesn't surprise me. We have our camelbak, and a ton of sunscreen, and are staying out of the sun anyway.
But it becomes clear as the day goes by that it is not hot, like, complaining hot. It is, in fact, dangerous hot. I don't like crowds anyway, and being surrounded by idiots kind of freaks me out. In the tent where we stop to sit for a while, there are about a million people eating lunch. We look around to see a lot of people who don't even know their bodies are crashing. I see kids who are completely flushed, and their parents clueless. Heat is actually very hard on your body, folks! I know, we are from California, and not particularly aware of this. But it's kind of sad and scary. We watch a lot of ambulance activity taking place around us. Water? Costs FOUR DOLLARS a bottle! We sat in the lobby area of the bathroom near the paddock entrances/food area, where I had just soaked my shirt again in the sink, and we sat loading up on salt in the form of some noodles, and even sucking down soy sauce packets. Refilled the camelbak and gave our bodies some rest. After a guy came in and then actually dropped in front of us, we were like, "fuck this place, this is getting bad," and left.
It must have been around 3:30 when we got up to our bikes, stepped into our sun-warmed snowsuits, and got on the road again. The most racing I saw was on the way out of the place, I caught a glimpse of some folks riding around the track. Hey, guess what, I'm riding too! I guess that's at least as good as watching some guy I don't even know ride.
On the freeway, I got incredibly sleepy, and pulled off. Paul was the same, and we literally parked at a shopping mall and napped in the grass there. Heat exhaustion is no joke.
After a mall dinner, we rode home, which was more misery. It never got cool. Windchill was more like riding into a hot hairdryer. Even San Francisco was hot, and my apartment didn't cool off until, oh, about 3am.
I hate hot weather.
I hate Laguna Seca.
I hate $4 water.
Motorcycles are still cool.
Last year, we got there and spent an hour waiting to get in. I swore I would not return. Laguna Seca cannot get their shit together.
I lied, and I did return.
This time, the line moved OK getting in, but once in the gate, we rode around the entire goddam place trying to find where we were supposed to park. I know, some places you go, they do fancy things like post big signs, but not here! They wanted us to have a tour of the place first. We drove every direction, and yes, I stopped several times to get directions from the various traffic directors. They directed me a lot of places. The last place was to the parking area. Good job, dumbasses!
Fine, so we're parked and on our way finally. We got a bunch of beer (Porter, even, not some pissy frat boy shite) and felt a little better. Oh, yeah, it's HOT. It's going to be even hotter, we know this. I've camped in 110+ weather before, and this doesn't surprise me. We have our camelbak, and a ton of sunscreen, and are staying out of the sun anyway.
But it becomes clear as the day goes by that it is not hot, like, complaining hot. It is, in fact, dangerous hot. I don't like crowds anyway, and being surrounded by idiots kind of freaks me out. In the tent where we stop to sit for a while, there are about a million people eating lunch. We look around to see a lot of people who don't even know their bodies are crashing. I see kids who are completely flushed, and their parents clueless. Heat is actually very hard on your body, folks! I know, we are from California, and not particularly aware of this. But it's kind of sad and scary. We watch a lot of ambulance activity taking place around us. Water? Costs FOUR DOLLARS a bottle! We sat in the lobby area of the bathroom near the paddock entrances/food area, where I had just soaked my shirt again in the sink, and we sat loading up on salt in the form of some noodles, and even sucking down soy sauce packets. Refilled the camelbak and gave our bodies some rest. After a guy came in and then actually dropped in front of us, we were like, "fuck this place, this is getting bad," and left.
It must have been around 3:30 when we got up to our bikes, stepped into our sun-warmed snowsuits, and got on the road again. The most racing I saw was on the way out of the place, I caught a glimpse of some folks riding around the track. Hey, guess what, I'm riding too! I guess that's at least as good as watching some guy I don't even know ride.
On the freeway, I got incredibly sleepy, and pulled off. Paul was the same, and we literally parked at a shopping mall and napped in the grass there. Heat exhaustion is no joke.
After a mall dinner, we rode home, which was more misery. It never got cool. Windchill was more like riding into a hot hairdryer. Even San Francisco was hot, and my apartment didn't cool off until, oh, about 3am.
I hate hot weather.
I hate Laguna Seca.
I hate $4 water.
Motorcycles are still cool.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Critter
My brother just sent me ultrasounds of Critter.
Usually, I don't get into baby pictures and certainly not pre-baby pictures, but somehow, this one is really neat. I'm excited.
It's the cycle, happening right now in front of me.
Oh, yeah, and Critter has two feet. Check that off the list of things to worry about.
Usually, I don't get into baby pictures and certainly not pre-baby pictures, but somehow, this one is really neat. I'm excited.
It's the cycle, happening right now in front of me.
Oh, yeah, and Critter has two feet. Check that off the list of things to worry about.
tired.
I'm stretched too thin.
We all are, and some of the weirdness is bubbling up to the surface. Politics are coming out of the woodwork. People are snapping.
Some people have been snapping all along, but lately, even the core group is getting to wit's end.
I'm tired, really, really tired. I don't get enough sleep. I can't remember the last time I got to sit on my couch and do the silly shit I do like balance my financial statements, read a book, or study my Chinese. I don't think we've been to Lanesplitter in over a week. That's, like, a record.
Everything I type is rife with typos and spelling errors.
My house is a disaster, and I can't go to the store or do laundry.
I worry and cry and I can't sleep when I do get to bed.
Not that any of this is enough.
There's still more to do. And now on top of that, there will be outbursts and criticisms and interpersonal dramas. I'd walk away, but it's not about me or my comfort level. I said I was willing to push this. I hadn't really wanted to lose friends over it. It's well known that there are people I'm working with that I really don't even like. I expected those outbursts and laugh them off. But I almost can't bear the wear on friendships I value. I don't want to be drawn into politics. Can we just get the job done? Everyone is tired. The less hysterics we have, the less tired we will make ourselves. I've been ignoring the bullshit from the people I expected it from, but I need the rest of us to stick together. It's not me that needs it most, though. This isn't about us.
I can't give up even though I wish I could. I just want to walk away. But this is not an option. If I cared less, maybe I would. It's too important.
We all are, and some of the weirdness is bubbling up to the surface. Politics are coming out of the woodwork. People are snapping.
Some people have been snapping all along, but lately, even the core group is getting to wit's end.
I'm tired, really, really tired. I don't get enough sleep. I can't remember the last time I got to sit on my couch and do the silly shit I do like balance my financial statements, read a book, or study my Chinese. I don't think we've been to Lanesplitter in over a week. That's, like, a record.
Everything I type is rife with typos and spelling errors.
My house is a disaster, and I can't go to the store or do laundry.
I worry and cry and I can't sleep when I do get to bed.
Not that any of this is enough.
There's still more to do. And now on top of that, there will be outbursts and criticisms and interpersonal dramas. I'd walk away, but it's not about me or my comfort level. I said I was willing to push this. I hadn't really wanted to lose friends over it. It's well known that there are people I'm working with that I really don't even like. I expected those outbursts and laugh them off. But I almost can't bear the wear on friendships I value. I don't want to be drawn into politics. Can we just get the job done? Everyone is tired. The less hysterics we have, the less tired we will make ourselves. I've been ignoring the bullshit from the people I expected it from, but I need the rest of us to stick together. It's not me that needs it most, though. This isn't about us.
I can't give up even though I wish I could. I just want to walk away. But this is not an option. If I cared less, maybe I would. It's too important.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Yesterday I watched a bicyclist collide with a car in Berkeley. Maybe it was technically Oakland, but close enough.
It was the bicyclist's fault, completely. Hey, genius, don't pass a car on the left that is making a left turn.
Seriously, if you can't ride properly, just don't. Buses were made for people like you.
I felt bad for the driver just then.
But what's news for ME?
Not a lot. I'm really crazy lately, trying to get EVERYTHING done. We are getting close to the August 5th/6th event, and there's a lot of cat herding left to do. And real errands, like getting posters and flyers, and all that.
It is coming together, but people are starting to get weird. It's been a few weeks now of work, and some of the personalities are bubbling up to the surface in not so pleasant ways. Whatever.
I've been sick since thursday. I don't really know how I managed to get a cold in July when no one else I knew was sick, but I'm guessing it mostly has to do with the fact that I've been running myself ragged. There is a ton of stress in my life right now, and the only thing keeping me sane anymore is Paul. So I figure the people around me who are losing their shit ought to be pitied because they don't have Paul to make everything better. Well, I'm not sharing, so there.
Girls weekend was a bit of a wash, since I was all sicky and tired. Plus, my sister-in-law is all knocked up and can't drink. Still, nice to hang out and kill time with my family.
I finally got a new front tire on my SV. I was amazed at what a difference it makes in the handling. I mean, it just corners so much better. I forgot what it was supposed to feel like. Maybe I shouldn't be so cheap. The DRZ is still not on the street because some of the spacers I need to replace are on backorder, as is the new front tire. I decided to upgrade to distanzias, but the front is a no-go so far. Maybe I'll do a Distanzia rear and an MT21 front? That's not funny unless you're a dualsport tire geek. Nevermind, I have a headache.
This weekend: MotoGP. Saturday only, just because that's how we roll. Sunday will be nice.
It was the bicyclist's fault, completely. Hey, genius, don't pass a car on the left that is making a left turn.
Seriously, if you can't ride properly, just don't. Buses were made for people like you.
I felt bad for the driver just then.
But what's news for ME?
Not a lot. I'm really crazy lately, trying to get EVERYTHING done. We are getting close to the August 5th/6th event, and there's a lot of cat herding left to do. And real errands, like getting posters and flyers, and all that.
It is coming together, but people are starting to get weird. It's been a few weeks now of work, and some of the personalities are bubbling up to the surface in not so pleasant ways. Whatever.
I've been sick since thursday. I don't really know how I managed to get a cold in July when no one else I knew was sick, but I'm guessing it mostly has to do with the fact that I've been running myself ragged. There is a ton of stress in my life right now, and the only thing keeping me sane anymore is Paul. So I figure the people around me who are losing their shit ought to be pitied because they don't have Paul to make everything better. Well, I'm not sharing, so there.
Girls weekend was a bit of a wash, since I was all sicky and tired. Plus, my sister-in-law is all knocked up and can't drink. Still, nice to hang out and kill time with my family.
I finally got a new front tire on my SV. I was amazed at what a difference it makes in the handling. I mean, it just corners so much better. I forgot what it was supposed to feel like. Maybe I shouldn't be so cheap. The DRZ is still not on the street because some of the spacers I need to replace are on backorder, as is the new front tire. I decided to upgrade to distanzias, but the front is a no-go so far. Maybe I'll do a Distanzia rear and an MT21 front? That's not funny unless you're a dualsport tire geek. Nevermind, I have a headache.
This weekend: MotoGP. Saturday only, just because that's how we roll. Sunday will be nice.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Now one foot, now the other
A children's book I grew up with which I think of daily.
Thursday night, Paul did something that made me very proud to be associated with him. He is The Best(TM) and I am so proud to be seen with him. I mean, there's the obvious hottness factor, but gee, he is so nice. And he knows me, and what is important to me, and understands it in a way no one else ever could.
Times lately have been not so good, but it's all OK, because I have this man at my side.
Thursday night, SFMC again, meetings, etc.
Friday morning, I had to go down to Redwood “City” to drop off some paperwork for our speeding tickets. Po-po bitches!
Friday afternoon, I got a phone call from Tim, from the Isle of Man, just checking in to chat about James. These people are the most incredible strangers, taking care of James like he was family to them. I asked Paul the other day if he'd like to move to the Isle of Man. People there seem so amazing. Nevermind the fact that I could only understand about 50% of what Tim said. The accent is strong, but that makes it more interesting I guess.
Friday night we ate at Priya. Priya is damn tasty. Then we watched about half of a Chinese movie I rented, while hanging out with Squeeky cat, who is all busted. This is one of the downstairs cats, and it's no secret that he's my favorite. Unfortunately, he also gets injured more than any of the other cats. We found him to have a huge swollen chest thingy the other day, and Friday the vet finally had time to see him. It was huge abscess, and now he has a drainage tube and one of those big stupid Queene Anne collars, and we have to give him antibiotics. It is sad, and he's all confused and unhappy, but he was very happy to have our our company. Poor little boo!
Saturday we walked around and got some stuff organized for a raffle that evening. I worked at New Wave City Saturday night, and Steve and Skip had offered to raffle off prizes at the club, with the money from raffle ticket sales going to benefit James Cornell. They don't even know James, and we are all very thankful for their generosity.
Right now, Paul is working on my DRZ while I catch up on some tasks I have not gotten around to yet for James' fundraisers. We've done a lot of great stuff already, and more is in the works. It's pretty amazing to see the outpouring of help. I really think we can do this, if we just keep our shit together and put one foot in front of the other. James has gotten me through some pretty hairy situations, and I know we can return the same. Now one foot, now the other...
That's how the journey goes when you can't see the end. But somehow, you get there, one step at a time. We can do it, we will do it.
Thursday night, Paul did something that made me very proud to be associated with him. He is The Best(TM) and I am so proud to be seen with him. I mean, there's the obvious hottness factor, but gee, he is so nice. And he knows me, and what is important to me, and understands it in a way no one else ever could.
Times lately have been not so good, but it's all OK, because I have this man at my side.
Thursday night, SFMC again, meetings, etc.
Friday morning, I had to go down to Redwood “City” to drop off some paperwork for our speeding tickets. Po-po bitches!
Friday afternoon, I got a phone call from Tim, from the Isle of Man, just checking in to chat about James. These people are the most incredible strangers, taking care of James like he was family to them. I asked Paul the other day if he'd like to move to the Isle of Man. People there seem so amazing. Nevermind the fact that I could only understand about 50% of what Tim said. The accent is strong, but that makes it more interesting I guess.
Friday night we ate at Priya. Priya is damn tasty. Then we watched about half of a Chinese movie I rented, while hanging out with Squeeky cat, who is all busted. This is one of the downstairs cats, and it's no secret that he's my favorite. Unfortunately, he also gets injured more than any of the other cats. We found him to have a huge swollen chest thingy the other day, and Friday the vet finally had time to see him. It was huge abscess, and now he has a drainage tube and one of those big stupid Queene Anne collars, and we have to give him antibiotics. It is sad, and he's all confused and unhappy, but he was very happy to have our our company. Poor little boo!
Saturday we walked around and got some stuff organized for a raffle that evening. I worked at New Wave City Saturday night, and Steve and Skip had offered to raffle off prizes at the club, with the money from raffle ticket sales going to benefit James Cornell. They don't even know James, and we are all very thankful for their generosity.
Right now, Paul is working on my DRZ while I catch up on some tasks I have not gotten around to yet for James' fundraisers. We've done a lot of great stuff already, and more is in the works. It's pretty amazing to see the outpouring of help. I really think we can do this, if we just keep our shit together and put one foot in front of the other. James has gotten me through some pretty hairy situations, and I know we can return the same. Now one foot, now the other...
That's how the journey goes when you can't see the end. But somehow, you get there, one step at a time. We can do it, we will do it.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Math Class is Tough! Let's go Shopping!
Fourth of July was like it has been: family, food, friends, really tiny fireworks...
That's nice and all, but sort of lazy. I don't think our forefathers were this lazy in the face of a truly fucked-up tyranny. feh.
This morning on my way to work, my mind was racing with things I need to do. "I'll put that on my to-do list when I get to my computer..."
But now that I'm here, I'm drawing a blank. I already have a long list of things to do, none of which have to do with this office. I need to focus, and get through the day, to get home to do this stuff.
Which brings me to one of things floating around the top of the list, having to do with finding a new job. I am ready to move on from this one. I've been asking people at parties what they do for a living, and how they got there, and what they like about their jobs. I don't know, I'd like a change of scenery, and you never know who will tell you something that piques your interest. So, tell me stories. What do you do? What did it take to get there? What do you like about your job? Where do you see yourself career-wise, in five years? Ten years?
Outside of that, I'm pretty occupied with coordinating fundraisers for James. I'm beating a dead horse, and I'm not going to stop until James comes home and has that cup of hot chocolate with me at the place on Fillmore. These tasks are consuming, and Paul is being very patient with me.
Then I signed up for Fall classes, this time TWO. Intermediate Conversational Mandarin, and Intro to Macroeconomics. I've been really interested in economics lately, mostly because I didn't take a class like that in high school, and feel like it's something I ought to understand. But now I'm realizing what kind of math I'll need. And... it's been a while. I mean, I was good enough at math in high school, indeed I was on the "accelerated/honors" track, but that was a long time ago! Aaack! I promise you we did not do calculus in art school, though I am pretty quick with fractions as a result of my patternmaking experience. Math class is tough! Let's go shopping!
And will I regret overextending myself come class time? But I really want to learn! And one class per semester would be soooooo sloooooow.
And what about other things? Like, didn't I used to have a motorcycle? Oh, yeah, I have two, and they are both a little ratty right now. DRZ needs work, and maybe this weekend will get the shift shaft seal and wheel bearings replaced, perhaps even swap out wheels and tires so I can start riding around on the street more? The SV has a mostly bald front tire, and FedEx has shipped the replacement to the wrong place. ugh. Damn, but I miss the days when I actually could ride.
That's nice and all, but sort of lazy. I don't think our forefathers were this lazy in the face of a truly fucked-up tyranny. feh.
This morning on my way to work, my mind was racing with things I need to do. "I'll put that on my to-do list when I get to my computer..."
But now that I'm here, I'm drawing a blank. I already have a long list of things to do, none of which have to do with this office. I need to focus, and get through the day, to get home to do this stuff.
Which brings me to one of things floating around the top of the list, having to do with finding a new job. I am ready to move on from this one. I've been asking people at parties what they do for a living, and how they got there, and what they like about their jobs. I don't know, I'd like a change of scenery, and you never know who will tell you something that piques your interest. So, tell me stories. What do you do? What did it take to get there? What do you like about your job? Where do you see yourself career-wise, in five years? Ten years?
Outside of that, I'm pretty occupied with coordinating fundraisers for James. I'm beating a dead horse, and I'm not going to stop until James comes home and has that cup of hot chocolate with me at the place on Fillmore. These tasks are consuming, and Paul is being very patient with me.
Then I signed up for Fall classes, this time TWO. Intermediate Conversational Mandarin, and Intro to Macroeconomics. I've been really interested in economics lately, mostly because I didn't take a class like that in high school, and feel like it's something I ought to understand. But now I'm realizing what kind of math I'll need. And... it's been a while. I mean, I was good enough at math in high school, indeed I was on the "accelerated/honors" track, but that was a long time ago! Aaack! I promise you we did not do calculus in art school, though I am pretty quick with fractions as a result of my patternmaking experience. Math class is tough! Let's go shopping!
And will I regret overextending myself come class time? But I really want to learn! And one class per semester would be soooooo sloooooow.
And what about other things? Like, didn't I used to have a motorcycle? Oh, yeah, I have two, and they are both a little ratty right now. DRZ needs work, and maybe this weekend will get the shift shaft seal and wheel bearings replaced, perhaps even swap out wheels and tires so I can start riding around on the street more? The SV has a mostly bald front tire, and FedEx has shipped the replacement to the wrong place. ugh. Damn, but I miss the days when I actually could ride.
James Cornell needs help
One of my dearest friends, James Cornell, is in a coma in hospital at the Isle of Man in the Irish Channel. He and his driver crashed while racing last month. All the info is here: www.dawgpoundracing.com and www.jamescornellfund.org
In addition to being a major contributor to the Bay Area biker community (Vampires, San Francisco Motorcycle club, Helimot), James has been extensively involved in the local night club and underground scenes.
Here's the latest coverage from Friday's article in the SF Chronicle
I am asking all of you to send $20 via Paypal to jamescornellfund@yahoo.com, or send a check payable to the San Francisco Motorcycle Club, 2194 Folsom, San Francisco, CA 94110 The paypal link is on the jamescornellfund.org website above.
Ask yourself, If anyone you called friend were lying in a hospital bed 7000 miles away, would it be worth $20.00 to get him or her home?
This is one of my dearest friends, and I am in agony waiting for something to happen. We need to raise $50,000 for a medivac flight in a very short period of time.
Please help. Please share this message to those you Love.
Thanks Very Much,
Rebecca
In addition to being a major contributor to the Bay Area biker community (Vampires, San Francisco Motorcycle club, Helimot), James has been extensively involved in the local night club and underground scenes.
Here's the latest coverage from Friday's article in the SF Chronicle
I am asking all of you to send $20 via Paypal to jamescornellfund@yahoo.com, or send a check payable to the San Francisco Motorcycle Club, 2194 Folsom, San Francisco, CA 94110 The paypal link is on the jamescornellfund.org website above.
Ask yourself, If anyone you called friend were lying in a hospital bed 7000 miles away, would it be worth $20.00 to get him or her home?
This is one of my dearest friends, and I am in agony waiting for something to happen. We need to raise $50,000 for a medivac flight in a very short period of time.
Please help. Please share this message to those you Love.
Thanks Very Much,
Rebecca
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Paul brought me flowers last night, and then I proceeded to ignore him while at the DNA Lounge last night. Not really ignore him, but I felt bad anyway.
The party at DNA last night benefitting James seemed to go well, and I got a bunch of cards to send to James. Also got to meet some of his friends who I've seen for years, but never really met.
Also, after working up some alcoholic nerve, plainly stated my case for a friendship that's been long strained, and was met well. We have so many fears, and they turn out to be mostly unfounded?
It was a good night for me, though I may have drank a little more than absolutely necessary.
Paul was kept out past his bedtime and left in the corner while I worked people over to write cards, and still manages to be perfectly sweet to me. What would I do without him?
The party at DNA last night benefitting James seemed to go well, and I got a bunch of cards to send to James. Also got to meet some of his friends who I've seen for years, but never really met.
Also, after working up some alcoholic nerve, plainly stated my case for a friendship that's been long strained, and was met well. We have so many fears, and they turn out to be mostly unfounded?
It was a good night for me, though I may have drank a little more than absolutely necessary.
Paul was kept out past his bedtime and left in the corner while I worked people over to write cards, and still manages to be perfectly sweet to me. What would I do without him?
Monday, June 26, 2006
Manic
On Friday I crashed. No, not my bike. Don't get excited.
The week before, I was weird. Every night I came home feeling like I'd just drank an entire pot of coffee. I had no patience (I know, I don't usually count patience as one of my many virtues anyway), I was angry, really angry, about things that were small, maybe even imagined. I would walk into Paul's house and monologue for 20 minutes about all the crap that was annoying me. I was frantic, moving forward, plugging ahead.
It's all necessary. Everyone deals with their stress in their way. I encountered the hand-wringing defeatist, and became the optimistic locomotive. I wouldn't suffer anyone's soft feelings of being overwhelmed.
We can do better.
We can do this, we will do this, do it now, now, NOW.
If you can't do it, I will do it.
I don't take any of that back. I will still do it.
But Friday I came home and cried for a while, then napped, then cried some more.
My way doesn't show up and cry and wonder what can be done. My way shows up with energy and strategy, and momentum that will steamroll people less quick to move. What are the steps? OK, now we are taking them.
I didn't mean to feel like a speedfreak all week, but I did. Then I crashed. And that was good.
I did a little more working on it this weekend, but mostly I read a book and relaxed. Steamrolling isn't what I want to do. I have to remind myself to be soft.
Saturday I went to a baby shower, then had lunch with some friends, which was so very nice. Seems I hardly have nice quality friend times these days.
Sunday we ran some errands, I read, we downed a bottle of champagne.
Now it's back to work, but soft now. I don't feel my heart racing the way it did last week.
We all have our own way.
But we are men of action, and I won't sit around feeling like it's impossible.
The week before, I was weird. Every night I came home feeling like I'd just drank an entire pot of coffee. I had no patience (I know, I don't usually count patience as one of my many virtues anyway), I was angry, really angry, about things that were small, maybe even imagined. I would walk into Paul's house and monologue for 20 minutes about all the crap that was annoying me. I was frantic, moving forward, plugging ahead.
It's all necessary. Everyone deals with their stress in their way. I encountered the hand-wringing defeatist, and became the optimistic locomotive. I wouldn't suffer anyone's soft feelings of being overwhelmed.
We can do better.
We can do this, we will do this, do it now, now, NOW.
If you can't do it, I will do it.
I don't take any of that back. I will still do it.
But Friday I came home and cried for a while, then napped, then cried some more.
My way doesn't show up and cry and wonder what can be done. My way shows up with energy and strategy, and momentum that will steamroll people less quick to move. What are the steps? OK, now we are taking them.
I didn't mean to feel like a speedfreak all week, but I did. Then I crashed. And that was good.
I did a little more working on it this weekend, but mostly I read a book and relaxed. Steamrolling isn't what I want to do. I have to remind myself to be soft.
Saturday I went to a baby shower, then had lunch with some friends, which was so very nice. Seems I hardly have nice quality friend times these days.
Sunday we ran some errands, I read, we downed a bottle of champagne.
Now it's back to work, but soft now. I don't feel my heart racing the way it did last week.
We all have our own way.
But we are men of action, and I won't sit around feeling like it's impossible.
Friday, June 23, 2006
F@#KING Motorcyclists!
Sometimes people wonder why I don't necessarily like other motorcyclists. I wave, sure; those riders are passing through in the opposite direction. But, no, to be frank, I often don't like encountering another motorcyclist on the road in my direction of travel. I've just seen too many stupid behaviors, and, worse, I've actually been hit by motorcyclists a few times.
So the coming of summer isn't all that welcome, particularly during the commute hour, when I get on the Bay Bridge this morning. I start in the carpool lane, and, as every morning, immediately start moving left across all lanes of traffic. Why? Because I think it's best for the motorcycles to split that lane. I think it's especially best if we split the same lanes, so that there aren't bikes in between all cars on all sides. Ever seen a helpful driver try to move aside for you? Well, now imagine there's another motorcyclist on the other side. No, it behooves us to split only one or two lanes in traffic, as much as possible. Particularly when we know, as we do in the commute hour, that there are a lot of other motorcycles out.
So I move over, and this morning, as I got into the #2 lane, I slowed to check the in-between lane, and as I did that, a motorcyclist honked his horn at me, I suppose thinking I was about to run into him. I wasn't, but I waited for him to calm down and go ahead before diving in. Which was a mistake. Well, maybe not, knowing the temper he had. I mean, the guy was slow. He was riding some big late 1970's/early 80's honda thing, I think maybe an Oldwing or something? And, I split behind the guy for a while, but he's slow. Will he let me pass? No. Note: it is the polite thing to do, when someone lanesplits up behind you, to pull into the lane and let them pass.
Fine, I'll wait, and plod behind him, maybe he'll get the hint. He makes a big show of flipping a car off, for changing lanes, about 400 feet in front of him. At his speed, it was NOT a danger. He's just an ass. I start thinking about breaking my rule and going to the next lanesplitting lane over, just long enough to get in front of him. I try this, and he speeds up. Now he is racing me. Look, fucker, I'm just going to work! YOU'RE SLOW. OK, fine, I'll get behind your slow ass again. And he slows back down. And next, NEXT he punches a delivery van, for no reason. This poor cager does NOTHING, and asshole honda guy hits his mirror in. Woah! Yeah, thanks asshole, you've just made a whole new set of motorcycle-haters. And those of us lanesplitting behind you (since you won't let us pass) now have to face these drivers' anger. At this point, I can't follow him anymore, and move over two lanes to get away. At which point he starts racing me again.
I don't say this often, but I honestly hope you eat shit, and soon, since you're making the world a more dangerous place for the rest of us.
so here's a review:
1.) If you are lanesplitting, and another rider comes up behind you, pull into the lane and let them pass, and then go back to lanesplitting. Painless!
2.) If you aren't checking your mirror for riders because you're afraid you'll hit something in front of you, then you are riding too fast/over your head. Slow down, check your mirror, and let others pass.
3.) It really helps if we don't have to go to the next in-between lane to pass you, since this multiplies the problem of heplful drivers accidentally taking one of us out when they try to move out of the way of the one of us they do see. (in other words: don't surround the cars on all sides if you can avoid it)
4.) If another rider does finally go around you because you don't check your mirrors and pull over, please don't take this as an oppurtunity to race. Other riders are just trying to get to wherever they are going. The race is in your head, and you already lost it, if they are trying to pass you.
5.) If you are an asshole, just go crash somewhere by yourself, and stop flipping off and *punching* cars that didn't even do anything, as that makes lanesplitting and riding more dangerous for the rest of us.
6.) Lanesplitting is a separate skill. If you don't feel comfortable doing it and maintaining yourself, your awareness, and composure, just don't do it.
posted by:
So the coming of summer isn't all that welcome, particularly during the commute hour, when I get on the Bay Bridge this morning. I start in the carpool lane, and, as every morning, immediately start moving left across all lanes of traffic. Why? Because I think it's best for the motorcycles to split that lane. I think it's especially best if we split the same lanes, so that there aren't bikes in between all cars on all sides. Ever seen a helpful driver try to move aside for you? Well, now imagine there's another motorcyclist on the other side. No, it behooves us to split only one or two lanes in traffic, as much as possible. Particularly when we know, as we do in the commute hour, that there are a lot of other motorcycles out.
So I move over, and this morning, as I got into the #2 lane, I slowed to check the in-between lane, and as I did that, a motorcyclist honked his horn at me, I suppose thinking I was about to run into him. I wasn't, but I waited for him to calm down and go ahead before diving in. Which was a mistake. Well, maybe not, knowing the temper he had. I mean, the guy was slow. He was riding some big late 1970's/early 80's honda thing, I think maybe an Oldwing or something? And, I split behind the guy for a while, but he's slow. Will he let me pass? No. Note: it is the polite thing to do, when someone lanesplits up behind you, to pull into the lane and let them pass.
Fine, I'll wait, and plod behind him, maybe he'll get the hint. He makes a big show of flipping a car off, for changing lanes, about 400 feet in front of him. At his speed, it was NOT a danger. He's just an ass. I start thinking about breaking my rule and going to the next lanesplitting lane over, just long enough to get in front of him. I try this, and he speeds up. Now he is racing me. Look, fucker, I'm just going to work! YOU'RE SLOW. OK, fine, I'll get behind your slow ass again. And he slows back down. And next, NEXT he punches a delivery van, for no reason. This poor cager does NOTHING, and asshole honda guy hits his mirror in. Woah! Yeah, thanks asshole, you've just made a whole new set of motorcycle-haters. And those of us lanesplitting behind you (since you won't let us pass) now have to face these drivers' anger. At this point, I can't follow him anymore, and move over two lanes to get away. At which point he starts racing me again.
I don't say this often, but I honestly hope you eat shit, and soon, since you're making the world a more dangerous place for the rest of us.
so here's a review:
1.) If you are lanesplitting, and another rider comes up behind you, pull into the lane and let them pass, and then go back to lanesplitting. Painless!
2.) If you aren't checking your mirror for riders because you're afraid you'll hit something in front of you, then you are riding too fast/over your head. Slow down, check your mirror, and let others pass.
3.) It really helps if we don't have to go to the next in-between lane to pass you, since this multiplies the problem of heplful drivers accidentally taking one of us out when they try to move out of the way of the one of us they do see. (in other words: don't surround the cars on all sides if you can avoid it)
4.) If another rider does finally go around you because you don't check your mirrors and pull over, please don't take this as an oppurtunity to race. Other riders are just trying to get to wherever they are going. The race is in your head, and you already lost it, if they are trying to pass you.
5.) If you are an asshole, just go crash somewhere by yourself, and stop flipping off and *punching* cars that didn't even do anything, as that makes lanesplitting and riding more dangerous for the rest of us.
6.) Lanesplitting is a separate skill. If you don't feel comfortable doing it and maintaining yourself, your awareness, and composure, just don't do it.
posted by:
Thursday, June 22, 2006
New Rule
OK, I'm sorry if this is crass, but I have new rule, which ought to be put into action immediately:
From now on, when you write a bulletin, email, whatever about so-and-so crashing a motorcycle, having a heart attack, being mauled by squirrels, or dying, please, please, include, or link to, a picture.
I can't tell you how many times I've gotten news of so-and-so's accident, and been unsure if I even know the person. Or if I'm sure which person it is.
How many people do I know that go by, like, three different made up names? How many people do I know named James, or Mike, or Jennifer? How many people do I know, whose names I can't even remember, despite having known them for years, because I'm drunk every time I see them?
Please.
Starting now.
Thank you.
From now on, when you write a bulletin, email, whatever about so-and-so crashing a motorcycle, having a heart attack, being mauled by squirrels, or dying, please, please, include, or link to, a picture.
I can't tell you how many times I've gotten news of so-and-so's accident, and been unsure if I even know the person. Or if I'm sure which person it is.
How many people do I know that go by, like, three different made up names? How many people do I know named James, or Mike, or Jennifer? How many people do I know, whose names I can't even remember, despite having known them for years, because I'm drunk every time I see them?
Please.
Starting now.
Thank you.
James Cornell Fundraisers
As many of you know, James Cornell (of Helimot, Vampires, and San Francisco Motorcycle club) was injured in an accident late May.
James was the monkey on a sidecar, doing a warm up lap for a practice for what many consider the "holy grail" of roadracing: the Isle of Man TT. Currently, James is still in a coma at Nobles Hospital at the Isle of Man.
more info can be found here:
http://www.jamescornellfund.org/
James will need a lot of resources to get back to his home and health. Please tell your motorcycle riding friends about this website and fundraising effort.
June 25 (Sunday) there will be two events in Santa Cruz. Char will have a garage sale, and the Vampires will be selling food and drinks at We All Ride's event.
Next Wednesday, June 28, there will be a party at the DNA lounge benefitting James.
There are other efforts in the works, please keep tuned in to the website for more info.
Dude, WTF?
A fundraiser for James Cornell
Wednesday, June 28th 8pm - 3am 21+
DNA Lounge
375 11th St. San Francisco
DJ's:
Hicksmokey
Chris Venter
Chris Cendak
PS: Time to wake up James!!!!!
James was the monkey on a sidecar, doing a warm up lap for a practice for what many consider the "holy grail" of roadracing: the Isle of Man TT. Currently, James is still in a coma at Nobles Hospital at the Isle of Man.
more info can be found here:
http://www.jamescornellfund.org/
James will need a lot of resources to get back to his home and health. Please tell your motorcycle riding friends about this website and fundraising effort.
June 25 (Sunday) there will be two events in Santa Cruz. Char will have a garage sale, and the Vampires will be selling food and drinks at We All Ride's event.
Next Wednesday, June 28, there will be a party at the DNA lounge benefitting James.
There are other efforts in the works, please keep tuned in to the website for more info.
Dude, WTF?
A fundraiser for James Cornell
Wednesday, June 28th 8pm - 3am 21+
DNA Lounge
375 11th St. San Francisco
DJ's:
Hicksmokey
Chris Venter
Chris Cendak
PS: Time to wake up James!!!!!
Monday, June 19, 2006
people
Weekend was nice. We saw people. Friday night, dinner at Paul's mom's house. Saturday, wine tasting in Livermore with my family (minus brother and his wife). Saturday night, dinner with Charles and Sara! Yay! Sunday, saw some folks in Oakland (or is that Berkeley?) and had dinner and ice cream with Daniel.
Aaahhhhh, so relaxing, and yet somewhat fruitful.
Now I'm focused on the organization for fundraising for James.
There are very few things I am willing to completely push my network for, and this is one of them. So, anyone I know, well or tangentially, will be worked over for this thing. Be forewarned.
Aaahhhhh, so relaxing, and yet somewhat fruitful.
Now I'm focused on the organization for fundraising for James.
There are very few things I am willing to completely push my network for, and this is one of them. So, anyone I know, well or tangentially, will be worked over for this thing. Be forewarned.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Roll on with Style and Grace!
I've had my Playstation setup to collect one million red roses for my Katamari for the past few days. When I come home, I flick on the TV to see how my little Kuro is doing with his rolling. It's frustrating to watch. The rubberband-on-controller setup is soooo slow, and most of the time, Kuro is stuck rolling the ball in a corner.
What does Kuro do when the katamari runs into something?
Kuro keeps rolling, moving slowly to the left, until an angle comes up where the Katamari can roll on.
Kuro looks pretty happy doing this, despite the big task ahead. One Million Red Roses!
I found myself running into walls last night. This isn't about you, and it isn't about me. It's about something much more important. I got mad skillz, yo, and the stonewalling and self-defeatist attitude is helping nothing. We CAN do this, and we can do it in a big way. So it's frustrating that this personal crap is in the way.
No matter, I will keep pushing, and the angle will be there, and I will roll on with style and grace, just like the King told me to...
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Medical Advancement
Paul has offered to send his cat to Nobles Hospital to wake James up. I think this is a splendid idea, as will anyone who has met this cat.
bleaaaaahhhh!
(says the cat)
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
My Crappy Vacation, Part 1
All the reasons aside, we were on our way north on Saturday. “north” was our only destination, with an implied “Seattle” somewhere along the way, as my brother lives there with his wife.
North on Memorial Day weekend, with all the unhappy feelings we had, meant, of course, we got tagged in the speed trap in Redding. The officer who stopped us had a speech impediment of some kind, which made it a little funny, but mostly it was just the icing on a cake made of shit.
What-the-fuck-ever. We both have two matching speed tickets each now. I cannot afford to get stopped again, so the ride north became a painful exercise in speed control. It was inevitable. There must have been at least 25 cops between that area near Redding all the way up to the last pass into Oregon. I was, at that point, riding painfully slow. Which sucks, since I spend more time looking at my speedometer and mirror than the road in front of me. And it makes me soooooo sleeepy to go so slow. Whatever. I fucking hate CHP.
Since I had not packed with a ride in mind, I didn't have a few things I would have liked. Mainly, my electric vest, cell phone charger, and frankly I missed my ipod. But the vest was a real problem, and riding into Oregon at night up to Grants Pass, I could not feel my fingers. Grants Pass doesn't seem to be much of a town, but our room was fine, and Denny's was entertaining.
Sunday we headed west to the coast, sloooowly still, since I cannot afford to talk to a cop again. Then up the coast on Highway 1, which is pretty, and we are getting great mileage, but it is taking forever. Planned to get up to Tillamook or something, but as we came through Waldport, Paul saw that there was a Howard Johnsons on the on the tip of the spit on the other side of the bay. It was pretty, and we were bored of riding, and so we stayed. From the hotel restaurant, we could see seals playing in the bay, and a ton of birds. The views were nice, and there was a bar. Good enough.
Monday we headed north still, through Tillamook, which is very pretty country. North of Tillamook are some small towns on a lagoon-like bay, where we both caught sight of a bald eagle. I've never seen one in the wild before, so this was a real treat.
At Astoria, we turned inland, back to I-5 to make the rest of the trip to Seattle. We had finally called my brother from Waldport to tell him we were on our way to Seattle. Stopped for gas at the junction for the road to Mt. Rainier. I rode that route two years ago and loved it, but this time I didn't have it in me. This wasn't a fun ride, just an escape. I wanted to get to Seattle in good time, so we just took I-5 into Seattle, where I took a bit to get my bearings and then got us to Ben's house just as he and Megan were on their way out the door to dinner plans. Perfect timing. I just wanted to spend some time laying low in Seattle. Both of our chains were shagged, and we'd need to replace them before the ride home. It would have been a good excuse to just hang out in one of my favorite cities. Things should have looked up from here.
But Tuesday, well... We wandered around Fremont in the morning and then came back to Ben's house. He'd left us the spare key and we'd agreed we'd call to meet them up for lunch downtown. Before this happened, Paul spent some time checking over the bikes out front. I went in and out to get stuff and somehow managed to get locked out. I don’t really know how since I didn't actively lock it the last time I came out, but, old locks, I don't know... and with my cell phone inside too, I just decided it was miserable, and sat and felt sorry for myself. We did find an easy way in and called Ben to have lunch with them downtown. After which, we went to the Yamaha dealership where Paul had his chain and sprocket replaced (as he didn't have the right size socket for the FZ1) and then on to the Suzuki dealership to get my chain and sprocket, which Paul would install the next day. It all felt very nice and accomplished, despite the fact that in the afternoon, we dropped the FZ and broke off the passenger peg.
It all seemed great, until we got home to Ben's house and found the door wide open. And the door to the basement open. Both these doors are strictly supposed to be kept closed so the cats don't get out or in the basement. I was immediately sorry that I'd somehow fucked up and left these two doors open. After shutting them and calming down, it was probably about ten minutes before I noticed that the iBook was not on the kitchen counter. Had Megan been home? Shit, the Powerbook was not on the kitchen table! I called my brother, had either of them come home? No, and he'd rush home now, and could I call the police? Upstairs, the two bedrooms (one is really a den) were also opened. Not as they'd been left, again for cat reasons, we knew something was wrong there.
The upside is that the cats were both home, but the downside was that three laptops (Ben's work laptop was stolen from the guestroom underneath a pile of our dirty clothes, and I hadn't even known it was there despite sleeping in there.) The cordless phone handset had been stolen, but not the base (Why? Can anyone help explain this? It's useless without the base!) A jewelry box had been taken from the bedroom, including a sapphire ring that had some family heirloom value, but nothing much else in that box of real value, as I understand it. Megan's wedding bands, gone. And some credit cards, also taken (and used, at Krispey Kreme and gas stations, and some sort of catalog order I think?) Most bizarre, a Trader Joe's grocery bag full of trail mix and camp snacks for Ben and Megan's upcoming Yosemite trip was also deemed worth stealing. It was obvious from cabinet doors left open that the culprit had spent some time looking downstairs too.
The point of entry and exit was exactly as we had come in earlier. Was it a neighbor who saw us do it? It was so effortless, and obvious to us in the morning, perhaps someone had coincidentally come by that day and had the same thought? The point of entry isn't particularly visible from many public areas, so it would be strange luck for someone to have witnessed it... And regardless of anything, we felt horrible about it. Everyone, of course, feels horrible. Ben and Megan took this all very well, considering.
But it was miserable. I hope the best, I hope the stuff comes back, but mostly I hope the trouble ends there.
Wednesday, we had breakfast at a freakish restaurant run by a brainwashed cult (really) and came home to do chain and sprockets, then back across the Fremont Bridge to walk around Fremont eating ice cream and checking out Gasworks Park. With all the excitement, and since Ben and Megan were going to Yosemite in the morning, we decided to lay low with pizza delivery and Arrested Development videos at their house.
Thursday we had breakfast at Coastal Kitchen where I picked up some Italian language CDs and then hiked around Capitol Hill and Volunteer Park, up the Observation Tower for a nice view of the city. We went to the Bleu Bistro, which is a really great bar. We bought Paul a sweatshirt that said “high roller” along with glittery graphics of a roller skate with wings. Cool! Things were looking better. Every day, we kept thinking, OK, now the lemons are done falling, let's make the fucking lemonade and get on with it. How much worse could it get?
At some point in the evening, back at the house, I turned my phone on, which I'd left off to preserve the battery, as I hadn't brought the charger (since I didn't pack for a road trip)
The message was minimal, but there was something wrong. I called back, left messages, waited. I finally called my mother to help. We had no internet access either since the computers were all gone. She looked for me, and saw it, and was sorry. I'd given out my brother's home number so people could reach me as my phone was dying. I got an update later that night, and thought once again that we'd go home the next morning.
But Friday, I got up after dreaming about James all night, with a changed mind once again. There wasn't anything to be done at home, and the ride home would be hell anyway. Speaking with Lionel in the morning helped calm me a bit. To solve the communication cutoff feelings, we went downtown and bought a new cell phone (I'm sad to say, really, as I'd been very attached to the old one) Still no internet, but it was something. I just had to keep calling and bugging people for updates. At this, I truly felt that rock bottom was hit, but not by me. It put everything into perspective, but brought up a whole new range of guilt and grief and worry. It fucking sucks, is what I mean, and made everything else small. Also, shouldn't I have been there with him? That really stung, but what could I have done anyway?
But I'd lost my fight, for sure there would be no trip to Vancouver or the islands or Mt. Rainier; I just did not have it in me. We determined to stay until Ben and Megan returned, and I quietly decided I did not want to do anything besides low key wandering. NO MORE FUCKING ADVENTURES.
North on Memorial Day weekend, with all the unhappy feelings we had, meant, of course, we got tagged in the speed trap in Redding. The officer who stopped us had a speech impediment of some kind, which made it a little funny, but mostly it was just the icing on a cake made of shit.
What-the-fuck-ever. We both have two matching speed tickets each now. I cannot afford to get stopped again, so the ride north became a painful exercise in speed control. It was inevitable. There must have been at least 25 cops between that area near Redding all the way up to the last pass into Oregon. I was, at that point, riding painfully slow. Which sucks, since I spend more time looking at my speedometer and mirror than the road in front of me. And it makes me soooooo sleeepy to go so slow. Whatever. I fucking hate CHP.
Since I had not packed with a ride in mind, I didn't have a few things I would have liked. Mainly, my electric vest, cell phone charger, and frankly I missed my ipod. But the vest was a real problem, and riding into Oregon at night up to Grants Pass, I could not feel my fingers. Grants Pass doesn't seem to be much of a town, but our room was fine, and Denny's was entertaining.
Sunday we headed west to the coast, sloooowly still, since I cannot afford to talk to a cop again. Then up the coast on Highway 1, which is pretty, and we are getting great mileage, but it is taking forever. Planned to get up to Tillamook or something, but as we came through Waldport, Paul saw that there was a Howard Johnsons on the on the tip of the spit on the other side of the bay. It was pretty, and we were bored of riding, and so we stayed. From the hotel restaurant, we could see seals playing in the bay, and a ton of birds. The views were nice, and there was a bar. Good enough.
Monday we headed north still, through Tillamook, which is very pretty country. North of Tillamook are some small towns on a lagoon-like bay, where we both caught sight of a bald eagle. I've never seen one in the wild before, so this was a real treat.
At Astoria, we turned inland, back to I-5 to make the rest of the trip to Seattle. We had finally called my brother from Waldport to tell him we were on our way to Seattle. Stopped for gas at the junction for the road to Mt. Rainier. I rode that route two years ago and loved it, but this time I didn't have it in me. This wasn't a fun ride, just an escape. I wanted to get to Seattle in good time, so we just took I-5 into Seattle, where I took a bit to get my bearings and then got us to Ben's house just as he and Megan were on their way out the door to dinner plans. Perfect timing. I just wanted to spend some time laying low in Seattle. Both of our chains were shagged, and we'd need to replace them before the ride home. It would have been a good excuse to just hang out in one of my favorite cities. Things should have looked up from here.
But Tuesday, well... We wandered around Fremont in the morning and then came back to Ben's house. He'd left us the spare key and we'd agreed we'd call to meet them up for lunch downtown. Before this happened, Paul spent some time checking over the bikes out front. I went in and out to get stuff and somehow managed to get locked out. I don’t really know how since I didn't actively lock it the last time I came out, but, old locks, I don't know... and with my cell phone inside too, I just decided it was miserable, and sat and felt sorry for myself. We did find an easy way in and called Ben to have lunch with them downtown. After which, we went to the Yamaha dealership where Paul had his chain and sprocket replaced (as he didn't have the right size socket for the FZ1) and then on to the Suzuki dealership to get my chain and sprocket, which Paul would install the next day. It all felt very nice and accomplished, despite the fact that in the afternoon, we dropped the FZ and broke off the passenger peg.
It all seemed great, until we got home to Ben's house and found the door wide open. And the door to the basement open. Both these doors are strictly supposed to be kept closed so the cats don't get out or in the basement. I was immediately sorry that I'd somehow fucked up and left these two doors open. After shutting them and calming down, it was probably about ten minutes before I noticed that the iBook was not on the kitchen counter. Had Megan been home? Shit, the Powerbook was not on the kitchen table! I called my brother, had either of them come home? No, and he'd rush home now, and could I call the police? Upstairs, the two bedrooms (one is really a den) were also opened. Not as they'd been left, again for cat reasons, we knew something was wrong there.
The upside is that the cats were both home, but the downside was that three laptops (Ben's work laptop was stolen from the guestroom underneath a pile of our dirty clothes, and I hadn't even known it was there despite sleeping in there.) The cordless phone handset had been stolen, but not the base (Why? Can anyone help explain this? It's useless without the base!) A jewelry box had been taken from the bedroom, including a sapphire ring that had some family heirloom value, but nothing much else in that box of real value, as I understand it. Megan's wedding bands, gone. And some credit cards, also taken (and used, at Krispey Kreme and gas stations, and some sort of catalog order I think?) Most bizarre, a Trader Joe's grocery bag full of trail mix and camp snacks for Ben and Megan's upcoming Yosemite trip was also deemed worth stealing. It was obvious from cabinet doors left open that the culprit had spent some time looking downstairs too.
The point of entry and exit was exactly as we had come in earlier. Was it a neighbor who saw us do it? It was so effortless, and obvious to us in the morning, perhaps someone had coincidentally come by that day and had the same thought? The point of entry isn't particularly visible from many public areas, so it would be strange luck for someone to have witnessed it... And regardless of anything, we felt horrible about it. Everyone, of course, feels horrible. Ben and Megan took this all very well, considering.
But it was miserable. I hope the best, I hope the stuff comes back, but mostly I hope the trouble ends there.
Wednesday, we had breakfast at a freakish restaurant run by a brainwashed cult (really) and came home to do chain and sprockets, then back across the Fremont Bridge to walk around Fremont eating ice cream and checking out Gasworks Park. With all the excitement, and since Ben and Megan were going to Yosemite in the morning, we decided to lay low with pizza delivery and Arrested Development videos at their house.
Thursday we had breakfast at Coastal Kitchen where I picked up some Italian language CDs and then hiked around Capitol Hill and Volunteer Park, up the Observation Tower for a nice view of the city. We went to the Bleu Bistro, which is a really great bar. We bought Paul a sweatshirt that said “high roller” along with glittery graphics of a roller skate with wings. Cool! Things were looking better. Every day, we kept thinking, OK, now the lemons are done falling, let's make the fucking lemonade and get on with it. How much worse could it get?
At some point in the evening, back at the house, I turned my phone on, which I'd left off to preserve the battery, as I hadn't brought the charger (since I didn't pack for a road trip)
The message was minimal, but there was something wrong. I called back, left messages, waited. I finally called my mother to help. We had no internet access either since the computers were all gone. She looked for me, and saw it, and was sorry. I'd given out my brother's home number so people could reach me as my phone was dying. I got an update later that night, and thought once again that we'd go home the next morning.
But Friday, I got up after dreaming about James all night, with a changed mind once again. There wasn't anything to be done at home, and the ride home would be hell anyway. Speaking with Lionel in the morning helped calm me a bit. To solve the communication cutoff feelings, we went downtown and bought a new cell phone (I'm sad to say, really, as I'd been very attached to the old one) Still no internet, but it was something. I just had to keep calling and bugging people for updates. At this, I truly felt that rock bottom was hit, but not by me. It put everything into perspective, but brought up a whole new range of guilt and grief and worry. It fucking sucks, is what I mean, and made everything else small. Also, shouldn't I have been there with him? That really stung, but what could I have done anyway?
But I'd lost my fight, for sure there would be no trip to Vancouver or the islands or Mt. Rainier; I just did not have it in me. We determined to stay until Ben and Megan returned, and I quietly decided I did not want to do anything besides low key wandering. NO MORE FUCKING ADVENTURES.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
I'll still follow you anywhere
The comfort I have now is that I DID tell you how much you meant to me, before it became an “I wish I'd let him know...”
In no uncertain terms... you are one of the two or three most important friends I have, you mean the world to me, I trust you implicitly, you are one of the coolest people I know, you look great, what you're doing is amazing, I really appreciate all the things you do for me and the times we have, I would follow you anywhere...
Maybe it seemed over the top at those times, but it was all heartfelt, and now I'm glad I made it known. Maybe while you sleep you can think of these things. Maybe when you wake up you can look forward to those times again. I am clinging desperately to those tomorrows in the meantime. And I'm keeping the “that's probably one of the best compliments I could get” close to my heart too.
And everyone else, take the time to tell the important people in your life, what they mean to you and how tall they appear in your eyes, how you couldn't do it without them, how you are a better person for knowing them. So the tough times aren't filled with “I wish I'd let him know...”
These days don't seem so grey, knowing I made myself known.
In no uncertain terms... you are one of the two or three most important friends I have, you mean the world to me, I trust you implicitly, you are one of the coolest people I know, you look great, what you're doing is amazing, I really appreciate all the things you do for me and the times we have, I would follow you anywhere...
Maybe it seemed over the top at those times, but it was all heartfelt, and now I'm glad I made it known. Maybe while you sleep you can think of these things. Maybe when you wake up you can look forward to those times again. I am clinging desperately to those tomorrows in the meantime. And I'm keeping the “that's probably one of the best compliments I could get” close to my heart too.
And everyone else, take the time to tell the important people in your life, what they mean to you and how tall they appear in your eyes, how you couldn't do it without them, how you are a better person for knowing them. So the tough times aren't filled with “I wish I'd let him know...”
These days don't seem so grey, knowing I made myself known.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
ooooh! so many geeky!
You are the rare, the overlooked, yet incredibly useful dodecahedron: the d12. You are a creative, romantic soul. You often act without thinking, but make up for your lack of plans with plenty of heart. You easily solve problems that stump others, but your answers tend to put you into even deeper trouble. You write long, detailed backgrounds for all your characters, and are most likely to dress up as one or get involved in cos-play. You can be silly at times and are easily distracted by your own day dreams, but are at the end of the day you're someone who can be depended on.
Monday, May 22, 2006
"Rebecca Does the Sheetiron, 2006" was made possible by a stunning array of supporting cast.
Friday
Being car-less folk, Paul and I were to head out on our dirtbikes around 5:30 Friday. Charles had our tent and sleeping bags already up at Stonyford. We would get there just about sundown, set up camp in the dark, sleep a bit, then get up early and RIDE.
5:40pm, we are gassed up and away, on our way on an ADVENTURE! Which lasts for precisely 1.5 miles when I realize that Paul has dropped out of my mirror. We limp back to his house on the streets as his bike (which he bought last Sunday since the XR blew up) is cutting out. Vapor lock? Or something worse? Ugh, and it is raining. Paul works like a genius and we are back on the road around 7:00, hoping for the best. It is a 2.5-3 hour ride to Stonyford, and it is raining, and it is all quite stressful.
But we go, Paul in front, as fast as we can on our little knobby tires, up to Dunnigan, which is just near 505 and I5, where we stop for gas. I have been stuck here before on the way back from Sheetiron. There is a weird restaurant. There is also a motel. I am getting the lazies. There's nothing quite as nice as riding through the rain with an open faced-helmet (which is essentially what a motocross helmet is) and feeling the painful repeated pinprick impact of rain on your face. And it is dark, and we will be either setting up a tent in dark and MUD in Stonyford, or sleeping in a warm bed NOW. It's a no brainer, we call Charles and tell him we will hotel, and meet them at Stonyford to ride out in the morning. He sounds skeptical. "we will re-evaluate in the morning," he emphasizes, implying they are thinking that it will rain, and they may just load the trucks and go hang out in Fort Bragg. After a couple of hours on a dirtbike in the rain on the freeway, that sounds fine too. I really, really want to do the Sheetiron, but feel pretty unprepared, and mud riding in torrential rain doesn't appeal to me.
Saturday
Saturday morning, we get into Stonyford around 6:15, and rush to get everything done, re-arranged, set-up, and packed in the right place in the right order. Order of operations is very, very important, as anyone with a riding gear fetish can tell you. We don't actually get out of camp until about 8, which is not ideal. Feh.
Paul and I decide to do easy splits. Saturday morning, there happen to be two easy splits, one not as easy as the other. We take this easy-moderate split since it promises creek crossings and pretty stuff. It takes me a bit to get my legs for riding on the tacky stuff, but it starts to make a little sense.
Here is what I know about riding on the dirt:
1.) Stay on the Gas, or Fall on Your Ass.
Unfortunately, I have lost any tiny bit of skill or knowledge I may have ever had about turning a dirtbike. Sure, I know what you're supposed to do. I have listened to advice and instructions, and can tell you how to do it. I *know* this, but my body does not do it. Well, fine, I run through some slippy and slightly rutty stuff and it's kind of fun and terrifying. I doubt anyone can see or hear this, but whenever I hit slippy stuff, I yell in my helmet at myself. What do I yell?
"GAS! GAS! ASS! UP, UP, UP! GAS!"
"Up" is just to remind me to keep my elbows up and loose, for all the good that will do me. Well, it sort of worked. I mean, I didn't bail.
Fortunately, a chunk of the San Francisco Motorcycle club ends up mixed in with us. I've been hanging out with the SFMC folks for a few years now, and they are the best. Really, I am delighted to be near them.
A little ways in, we get to a small creek crossing, which goes off without a hitch. I look at it with a little trepidation, but it is not a tough creek really, at least from appearances, and is much, much narrower than some I've crossed before. And the other side isn't as rutted as that nasty one we crossed last time. Lionel is standing on the other side and snaps a photo of me crossing. Cool! Can't wait to get his pictures.
Second river crossing is a bit trickier. Normally, I like to size up an obstacle, and hit it from a right angle. Specifically, for a creek, I'd like to have a little running start. No such luck here. Even the small space where I'm wishing I could get my bike to in order to get optimal entry speed and angle, cannot be used as it keeps getting filled up with other riders who came after us. I have to nudge in, or may never get a chance, as new riders keep showing up.
First I watch a few SFMC guys go through. One guy goes down on a DR650, boots in the air and all as he splashes in, then fishes his bike out and drags it to the river bank with friends. Casey enters in a very strange way, trying to turn in the creek, and falls as well. So, what the hell, I go for it, (what else can you do?) and don't quite make it. I know the line I want, but somehow veer right and into a hole that I had wished to avoid. GAS! GAS! GAS! But it isn't really enough, and my bike stalls out. BUT. I have not fallen. Casey runs out to help and so does Lionel. The bank on the other side is fairly steep, and there are people and bikes on the sides. My job? To get out of the creek and up the bank without crashing or hitting anyone. Once up there, crashing is fine, just don't do it in the water, or where you might slide back into the water (possibly taking other bikes and people on the way).
Glancing behind me, I realize that Casey has somehow fallen completely in the water behind me. I don't know what happened, but as he gets up, I gas it, and the guys help guide me and the bike out of the water. Up the bank I go, and it's all I can do to get up the side without hitting all the bikes that have parked at the top of the ridge there. I glide to a stop on the thankfully wide, flat road and wait for the rest of the guys. Woo! I don't know how this could have worked out without Casey and Lionel. So far I have yet to fish my bike out of a creek, and it's not something I look forward to.
Paul arrives effortlessly, and I enjoy my early morning wet sock prize. Creek crossing in the morning means wet squishy toes the rest of the day. Yay! I soaked in it!
SFMC guys go ahead to take some hard splits, and we do the rest of the ride to Lake Pillsbury at a snail's pace set by me and my crappy dirt riding.
Lake Pillsbury lunch stop is always a trip. This place is in the middle of nowhere, and once a year the lot fills up with dirtbikes and we sit on the porch and eat our sandwiches while chickens, ducks and geese wander among us. Greg and Cindy show up. Greg is begging around for bike parts. What bike parts? Brake pads! He forgot to check them in his pre-ride prep, and they are completely gone. No one is carrying spare brake pads (imagine that), so he rides on. He and Cindy are having a blast. I haven't seen them in a long time; I have heard Cindy is quite a good dirt rider, and Greg looks great, having lost a ton of weight and just seeming more healthy and energetic. After lunch, we latch onto SFMC for Casey's cutoff to get into Fort Bragg at a decent hour. Paul and I have ridden a lot and will have a long Sunday ahead of us: 150 miles of dirt riding (like everyone else) and then a 3 hour ride home (unlike everyone else)
CRAPPY dinner in Fort Bragg, notice a new oil leak on my bike (sniff, sniff) which we will have to carry oil for now, and then to bed at a very decent hour. Stagger the fifty feet to Perko's in the morning for breakfast (which takes WAY too long, since they are shortstaffed) and then we are on the road again.
Sunday
The Sunday morning segment of the Sheetiron is a bit of a legend. The Tanktrapper, we have called it. I met Wayne in a ditch three years ago, and, not even knowing he was from SFMC or knew anyone I knew, handed him my basically new DRZ with the keys in it and told him to take it away. I had crashed something like 5 times in a couple of miles, and the ruts were so deep and overwhelming, everyone was crashing around us and yelling, there were puddles 30 feet long the entire width of the road. The first year I did it, I think we spent a few hours just getting through those first few miles.
Then, the next year, it was gone. Totally flat. Lollipop hill, we thought of re-naming it.
So there had been a lot of guessing about conditions this year. Heavy rains pointed toward ruts, but a man we met in the bar in Willits said it had been closed all year to the 4x4 drivers who are the ones who tear it up like that.
Sunday morning leaving Fort Bragg, I am looking forward to it with trepidation and a little excitement and fear and a little adventure. I expect it to be bad, and take the wrong turnoff looking for bad conditions. Oops, no it is the easy road. We ride and ride, and finally I see the spot where I did my 6th and final get-off in front of all the parked bikes that first year. Lollipop Hill it is, again this year. Hmm. I don't know if it's good or bad. Somewhere in between would be good, a little challenging without being so totally horrible would be nice. Well, OK, at least we will make better time, which we need, at our pace. Stop for a quick vista and it starts to drizzle. Damn! Drizzle is fine, but just a little! Rain, I do not want. So we plug ahead, and finally find our selves down at the bottom with the "Road Not Maintained in Winter" sign. Yay! I love that sign! But we don't get to take a picture there; Paul is concerned about my front tire: it appears low. Indeed it IS low, so he puts some air in, and we will keep checking it to see what kind of leak it is. Incidentally, the oil leak seems to have let up a bit. Still, Paul is keeping his distance after I sprayed his bike on the way into Fort Bragg Saturday afternoon.
Next up, a gravel road which I remember "fondly" since:
a.) I have seen at least one guy stuffed into a fence on a surprise right hand hairpin
b.) this is where Eric broke all his toes the first time I went.
c.) Frank from SFMC stacked on a bridge here a few years back, which I think ended with broken bones or something.
(Later I found out Greg high-sided here on Sunday)
O-tay, on we go. Farther and farther down the road, and I am feeling worse and worse. I am supposed to be getting better and better as I ride ahead and get more confident, right? No, it is not working. Toward the end, I am fucking up all the corners and feeling horrible about it. I thought "I am steering this thing like a Goldwing in a parking lot! What the hell is wrong with me?" Deciding I had gotten myself into a bad headspace, I decided to pull out near the bottom for a breather, just before the highway. Into a nice little turnout, and as I pull the front brake lever and get wobbly feedback, I realize my head problem is really a flat tire problem, and I feel elated.
"My tire!"
"I know!"
"I thought it was ME!"
We decide it really must be changed, right now, and commit to it and begin de-gearing. This will take a while; we are not experienced trailside tire changers. But Paul can do anything, it just might take a bit in this case. We are about to plug ahead, when... who is the FIRST person to come down the road after we decide to do a tire change? Phil Douglas, hero, ISDE silver medalist, The Man, the Myth, the Legend. OK, I barely know Phil, but he is easily the coolest person I know. Well, one of the coolest anyway. And although I barely know him, he has been a hero to me several times.
He slows down to see what's up and I point at the culprit. We are about to change the tube. He offers to do it. We feel bad. He reminds us that he can do it in 4 minutes. I know this, I have heard the story somewhere before, but not from him. Phil is the kind of guy people talk about. He is so talented. As I recall, changing a tire in four minutes is part of qualifying for ISDE. "No really, I can do this really fast and save you a lot of time." Of course it is true; this will take us an hour. Phil can do it in 1/15th the time. And he does. It was fun to behold, and I was so very, very thankful. Phil is the best.
Other amazing and cool things Phil has done:
1.) Saved me from putting a seized chain through my case on the EX500 when I didn't know any better.
2.) Made my DRZ400 from a cool bike into The Perfect Bike For Me. People ask me what did he do to your bike? I say "Phil put his hands on it, and that is it." I have no idea; it is a black art, and Phil is a genius. The bike handles like a dream. (though at 36K, it really should go in for a check-up) Take your bike to Phil; it is worth every penny.
3.) Picked me up out of the dirt at Metcalf twice in about five minutes, and told me exactly how to ride out. I have a problem with falling the dirt.
4.) Raised two awesome daughters. This has nothing to do with me, but it is so cool to see.
5.) Oh, yeah. Silver medal in the ISDE. I mean, I GUESS that is pretty cool.
Anyway, we move forward, through a nice paved road (this I can handle) and into the gas stop. Unfortunately, everyone else is here at the same time. EVERYONE. We lose two hours here, but there is no gas between there and the finish, and Paul has a tiny stock tank.
Second half of the day is not so nice. Mendocino National Forest roads are usually quite beautiful, but this time around, the fog is too thick to see the views. In fact, it gets so thick that at times, I can't even see where the road is going. Snow on the side of the road is usual and nice, but this year, it is raining on top of this, and then hailing. It gets so cold, that at some point, I can't feel my fingers. My limbs are stiffening up as I shiver, and this is BAD. I want the bailout. I feel we've done our time, and we have a 2.5 hour ride home on top of this. But we plug ahead, unsure of the bailout directions, and it gets colder and foggier. I am miserable and FREEZING.
But onward we go, and finally to the gate for the last road. It takes a while, but we get through it. I warm up a little as we get near the bottom, where I know there will be one last water crossing, though it is not on the rollchart. It is not a difficult water crossing at all. Finally, we are at the bottom.
Back into camp, and we are wet and miserable. It is raining again, and muddy. The plan is to get our gear, and get on the road. I'm soaked and it's going to be miserable. As we fuss around with changing our clothes and bike-gearing in the mud, the SFMC guys stepped in with ANOTHER godsend: Wayne has room in his truck, and they insist on getting us back home in the truck. Really, we can ride home in the rain. There is nothing to prove here, but it will SUCK. REALLY suck. We are so lucky, and so grateful. Bikes loaded up, and we hit the road, and the rain goes from drizzle to torrential downpour. Holy crap, are we lucky. These guys have their shit together and take care of their friends. I am so lucky to be considered a friend.
Back to Berkeley around 9:30 or so, and I spread the wet gear all over the house to let it dry before we deal with it later. And we are totally wore out. And it was a blast.
I could not do all of this without my friends. And I'm sorry for all the troubles and inconveniences, but so very appreciative. I am just a girl with a lack of skills and a sense of adventure. I always say what I lack in skill, I make up for in enthusiasm. Well, that and a network of friends and acquaintances who are incredible, nice, and talented folk. Without them, all of my bad ideas would never come to fruition.
Thank you all!
-The Score-
Sheetiron 2006:
-The bikes have taken a beating: the XR never even got to go (blown motor) and my DRZ has finally shown some real wear, in the shape of an oil leak and odd squealing (wheel bearings maybe?). Feh!
-I did not crash at all, which leads me to believe I was being too cautious, and not challenging myself enough.
-Paul didn't crash either. He is a great rider.
-I need a lot more dirtbike practice, possibly school or something. I am tired of sucking so much.
-Our room at Super 8 smelled like biological waste. (I've stayed there several times before without problems though)
-It's just not the same without James there. We will be sure to complain about that when we see him next week at the ISLE OF MAN!!!!!
Being car-less folk, Paul and I were to head out on our dirtbikes around 5:30 Friday. Charles had our tent and sleeping bags already up at Stonyford. We would get there just about sundown, set up camp in the dark, sleep a bit, then get up early and RIDE.
5:40pm, we are gassed up and away, on our way on an ADVENTURE! Which lasts for precisely 1.5 miles when I realize that Paul has dropped out of my mirror. We limp back to his house on the streets as his bike (which he bought last Sunday since the XR blew up) is cutting out. Vapor lock? Or something worse? Ugh, and it is raining. Paul works like a genius and we are back on the road around 7:00, hoping for the best. It is a 2.5-3 hour ride to Stonyford, and it is raining, and it is all quite stressful.
But we go, Paul in front, as fast as we can on our little knobby tires, up to Dunnigan, which is just near 505 and I5, where we stop for gas. I have been stuck here before on the way back from Sheetiron. There is a weird restaurant. There is also a motel. I am getting the lazies. There's nothing quite as nice as riding through the rain with an open faced-helmet (which is essentially what a motocross helmet is) and feeling the painful repeated pinprick impact of rain on your face. And it is dark, and we will be either setting up a tent in dark and MUD in Stonyford, or sleeping in a warm bed NOW. It's a no brainer, we call Charles and tell him we will hotel, and meet them at Stonyford to ride out in the morning. He sounds skeptical. "we will re-evaluate in the morning," he emphasizes, implying they are thinking that it will rain, and they may just load the trucks and go hang out in Fort Bragg. After a couple of hours on a dirtbike in the rain on the freeway, that sounds fine too. I really, really want to do the Sheetiron, but feel pretty unprepared, and mud riding in torrential rain doesn't appeal to me.
Saturday
Saturday morning, we get into Stonyford around 6:15, and rush to get everything done, re-arranged, set-up, and packed in the right place in the right order. Order of operations is very, very important, as anyone with a riding gear fetish can tell you. We don't actually get out of camp until about 8, which is not ideal. Feh.
Paul and I decide to do easy splits. Saturday morning, there happen to be two easy splits, one not as easy as the other. We take this easy-moderate split since it promises creek crossings and pretty stuff. It takes me a bit to get my legs for riding on the tacky stuff, but it starts to make a little sense.
Here is what I know about riding on the dirt:
1.) Stay on the Gas, or Fall on Your Ass.
Unfortunately, I have lost any tiny bit of skill or knowledge I may have ever had about turning a dirtbike. Sure, I know what you're supposed to do. I have listened to advice and instructions, and can tell you how to do it. I *know* this, but my body does not do it. Well, fine, I run through some slippy and slightly rutty stuff and it's kind of fun and terrifying. I doubt anyone can see or hear this, but whenever I hit slippy stuff, I yell in my helmet at myself. What do I yell?
"GAS! GAS! ASS! UP, UP, UP! GAS!"
"Up" is just to remind me to keep my elbows up and loose, for all the good that will do me. Well, it sort of worked. I mean, I didn't bail.
Fortunately, a chunk of the San Francisco Motorcycle club ends up mixed in with us. I've been hanging out with the SFMC folks for a few years now, and they are the best. Really, I am delighted to be near them.
A little ways in, we get to a small creek crossing, which goes off without a hitch. I look at it with a little trepidation, but it is not a tough creek really, at least from appearances, and is much, much narrower than some I've crossed before. And the other side isn't as rutted as that nasty one we crossed last time. Lionel is standing on the other side and snaps a photo of me crossing. Cool! Can't wait to get his pictures.
Second river crossing is a bit trickier. Normally, I like to size up an obstacle, and hit it from a right angle. Specifically, for a creek, I'd like to have a little running start. No such luck here. Even the small space where I'm wishing I could get my bike to in order to get optimal entry speed and angle, cannot be used as it keeps getting filled up with other riders who came after us. I have to nudge in, or may never get a chance, as new riders keep showing up.
First I watch a few SFMC guys go through. One guy goes down on a DR650, boots in the air and all as he splashes in, then fishes his bike out and drags it to the river bank with friends. Casey enters in a very strange way, trying to turn in the creek, and falls as well. So, what the hell, I go for it, (what else can you do?) and don't quite make it. I know the line I want, but somehow veer right and into a hole that I had wished to avoid. GAS! GAS! GAS! But it isn't really enough, and my bike stalls out. BUT. I have not fallen. Casey runs out to help and so does Lionel. The bank on the other side is fairly steep, and there are people and bikes on the sides. My job? To get out of the creek and up the bank without crashing or hitting anyone. Once up there, crashing is fine, just don't do it in the water, or where you might slide back into the water (possibly taking other bikes and people on the way).
Glancing behind me, I realize that Casey has somehow fallen completely in the water behind me. I don't know what happened, but as he gets up, I gas it, and the guys help guide me and the bike out of the water. Up the bank I go, and it's all I can do to get up the side without hitting all the bikes that have parked at the top of the ridge there. I glide to a stop on the thankfully wide, flat road and wait for the rest of the guys. Woo! I don't know how this could have worked out without Casey and Lionel. So far I have yet to fish my bike out of a creek, and it's not something I look forward to.
Paul arrives effortlessly, and I enjoy my early morning wet sock prize. Creek crossing in the morning means wet squishy toes the rest of the day. Yay! I soaked in it!
SFMC guys go ahead to take some hard splits, and we do the rest of the ride to Lake Pillsbury at a snail's pace set by me and my crappy dirt riding.
Lake Pillsbury lunch stop is always a trip. This place is in the middle of nowhere, and once a year the lot fills up with dirtbikes and we sit on the porch and eat our sandwiches while chickens, ducks and geese wander among us. Greg and Cindy show up. Greg is begging around for bike parts. What bike parts? Brake pads! He forgot to check them in his pre-ride prep, and they are completely gone. No one is carrying spare brake pads (imagine that), so he rides on. He and Cindy are having a blast. I haven't seen them in a long time; I have heard Cindy is quite a good dirt rider, and Greg looks great, having lost a ton of weight and just seeming more healthy and energetic. After lunch, we latch onto SFMC for Casey's cutoff to get into Fort Bragg at a decent hour. Paul and I have ridden a lot and will have a long Sunday ahead of us: 150 miles of dirt riding (like everyone else) and then a 3 hour ride home (unlike everyone else)
CRAPPY dinner in Fort Bragg, notice a new oil leak on my bike (sniff, sniff) which we will have to carry oil for now, and then to bed at a very decent hour. Stagger the fifty feet to Perko's in the morning for breakfast (which takes WAY too long, since they are shortstaffed) and then we are on the road again.
Sunday
The Sunday morning segment of the Sheetiron is a bit of a legend. The Tanktrapper, we have called it. I met Wayne in a ditch three years ago, and, not even knowing he was from SFMC or knew anyone I knew, handed him my basically new DRZ with the keys in it and told him to take it away. I had crashed something like 5 times in a couple of miles, and the ruts were so deep and overwhelming, everyone was crashing around us and yelling, there were puddles 30 feet long the entire width of the road. The first year I did it, I think we spent a few hours just getting through those first few miles.
Then, the next year, it was gone. Totally flat. Lollipop hill, we thought of re-naming it.
So there had been a lot of guessing about conditions this year. Heavy rains pointed toward ruts, but a man we met in the bar in Willits said it had been closed all year to the 4x4 drivers who are the ones who tear it up like that.
Sunday morning leaving Fort Bragg, I am looking forward to it with trepidation and a little excitement and fear and a little adventure. I expect it to be bad, and take the wrong turnoff looking for bad conditions. Oops, no it is the easy road. We ride and ride, and finally I see the spot where I did my 6th and final get-off in front of all the parked bikes that first year. Lollipop Hill it is, again this year. Hmm. I don't know if it's good or bad. Somewhere in between would be good, a little challenging without being so totally horrible would be nice. Well, OK, at least we will make better time, which we need, at our pace. Stop for a quick vista and it starts to drizzle. Damn! Drizzle is fine, but just a little! Rain, I do not want. So we plug ahead, and finally find our selves down at the bottom with the "Road Not Maintained in Winter" sign. Yay! I love that sign! But we don't get to take a picture there; Paul is concerned about my front tire: it appears low. Indeed it IS low, so he puts some air in, and we will keep checking it to see what kind of leak it is. Incidentally, the oil leak seems to have let up a bit. Still, Paul is keeping his distance after I sprayed his bike on the way into Fort Bragg Saturday afternoon.
Next up, a gravel road which I remember "fondly" since:
a.) I have seen at least one guy stuffed into a fence on a surprise right hand hairpin
b.) this is where Eric broke all his toes the first time I went.
c.) Frank from SFMC stacked on a bridge here a few years back, which I think ended with broken bones or something.
(Later I found out Greg high-sided here on Sunday)
O-tay, on we go. Farther and farther down the road, and I am feeling worse and worse. I am supposed to be getting better and better as I ride ahead and get more confident, right? No, it is not working. Toward the end, I am fucking up all the corners and feeling horrible about it. I thought "I am steering this thing like a Goldwing in a parking lot! What the hell is wrong with me?" Deciding I had gotten myself into a bad headspace, I decided to pull out near the bottom for a breather, just before the highway. Into a nice little turnout, and as I pull the front brake lever and get wobbly feedback, I realize my head problem is really a flat tire problem, and I feel elated.
"My tire!"
"I know!"
"I thought it was ME!"
We decide it really must be changed, right now, and commit to it and begin de-gearing. This will take a while; we are not experienced trailside tire changers. But Paul can do anything, it just might take a bit in this case. We are about to plug ahead, when... who is the FIRST person to come down the road after we decide to do a tire change? Phil Douglas, hero, ISDE silver medalist, The Man, the Myth, the Legend. OK, I barely know Phil, but he is easily the coolest person I know. Well, one of the coolest anyway. And although I barely know him, he has been a hero to me several times.
He slows down to see what's up and I point at the culprit. We are about to change the tube. He offers to do it. We feel bad. He reminds us that he can do it in 4 minutes. I know this, I have heard the story somewhere before, but not from him. Phil is the kind of guy people talk about. He is so talented. As I recall, changing a tire in four minutes is part of qualifying for ISDE. "No really, I can do this really fast and save you a lot of time." Of course it is true; this will take us an hour. Phil can do it in 1/15th the time. And he does. It was fun to behold, and I was so very, very thankful. Phil is the best.
Other amazing and cool things Phil has done:
1.) Saved me from putting a seized chain through my case on the EX500 when I didn't know any better.
2.) Made my DRZ400 from a cool bike into The Perfect Bike For Me. People ask me what did he do to your bike? I say "Phil put his hands on it, and that is it." I have no idea; it is a black art, and Phil is a genius. The bike handles like a dream. (though at 36K, it really should go in for a check-up) Take your bike to Phil; it is worth every penny.
3.) Picked me up out of the dirt at Metcalf twice in about five minutes, and told me exactly how to ride out. I have a problem with falling the dirt.
4.) Raised two awesome daughters. This has nothing to do with me, but it is so cool to see.
5.) Oh, yeah. Silver medal in the ISDE. I mean, I GUESS that is pretty cool.
Anyway, we move forward, through a nice paved road (this I can handle) and into the gas stop. Unfortunately, everyone else is here at the same time. EVERYONE. We lose two hours here, but there is no gas between there and the finish, and Paul has a tiny stock tank.
Second half of the day is not so nice. Mendocino National Forest roads are usually quite beautiful, but this time around, the fog is too thick to see the views. In fact, it gets so thick that at times, I can't even see where the road is going. Snow on the side of the road is usual and nice, but this year, it is raining on top of this, and then hailing. It gets so cold, that at some point, I can't feel my fingers. My limbs are stiffening up as I shiver, and this is BAD. I want the bailout. I feel we've done our time, and we have a 2.5 hour ride home on top of this. But we plug ahead, unsure of the bailout directions, and it gets colder and foggier. I am miserable and FREEZING.
But onward we go, and finally to the gate for the last road. It takes a while, but we get through it. I warm up a little as we get near the bottom, where I know there will be one last water crossing, though it is not on the rollchart. It is not a difficult water crossing at all. Finally, we are at the bottom.
Back into camp, and we are wet and miserable. It is raining again, and muddy. The plan is to get our gear, and get on the road. I'm soaked and it's going to be miserable. As we fuss around with changing our clothes and bike-gearing in the mud, the SFMC guys stepped in with ANOTHER godsend: Wayne has room in his truck, and they insist on getting us back home in the truck. Really, we can ride home in the rain. There is nothing to prove here, but it will SUCK. REALLY suck. We are so lucky, and so grateful. Bikes loaded up, and we hit the road, and the rain goes from drizzle to torrential downpour. Holy crap, are we lucky. These guys have their shit together and take care of their friends. I am so lucky to be considered a friend.
Back to Berkeley around 9:30 or so, and I spread the wet gear all over the house to let it dry before we deal with it later. And we are totally wore out. And it was a blast.
I could not do all of this without my friends. And I'm sorry for all the troubles and inconveniences, but so very appreciative. I am just a girl with a lack of skills and a sense of adventure. I always say what I lack in skill, I make up for in enthusiasm. Well, that and a network of friends and acquaintances who are incredible, nice, and talented folk. Without them, all of my bad ideas would never come to fruition.
Thank you all!
-The Score-
Sheetiron 2006:
-The bikes have taken a beating: the XR never even got to go (blown motor) and my DRZ has finally shown some real wear, in the shape of an oil leak and odd squealing (wheel bearings maybe?). Feh!
-I did not crash at all, which leads me to believe I was being too cautious, and not challenging myself enough.
-Paul didn't crash either. He is a great rider.
-I need a lot more dirtbike practice, possibly school or something. I am tired of sucking so much.
-Our room at Super 8 smelled like biological waste. (I've stayed there several times before without problems though)
-It's just not the same without James there. We will be sure to complain about that when we see him next week at the ISLE OF MAN!!!!!
Friday, May 19, 2006
Hey Joe
Joe Rocket, I see you have a zooty sportbike. That is so cool!
I see you are lanesplitting. That is so cool!
But why are you so slow, and in my way? That is so not cool!
I am very appreciative that you took the time to eliminate your fender and move your plate behind your wheel. The fender weight was probably costing you, like, 10 horsepower, and I can only imagine how slowly you'd be splitting in that case.
I see you are lanesplitting. That is so cool!
But why are you so slow, and in my way? That is so not cool!
I am very appreciative that you took the time to eliminate your fender and move your plate behind your wheel. The fender weight was probably costing you, like, 10 horsepower, and I can only imagine how slowly you'd be splitting in that case.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
oh, and by the way
My mandarin teacher was so totally frothy about me yesterday at our final.
So my pronunciation is very good, but I really need to get my vocabulary up and practice listening and responding. It's really a lot harder to engage in extemporaneous conversations than to give scripted dialogues. I can only pick up about 10% of the words I hear, it is so fast.
So my pronunciation is very good, but I really need to get my vocabulary up and practice listening and responding. It's really a lot harder to engage in extemporaneous conversations than to give scripted dialogues. I can only pick up about 10% of the words I hear, it is so fast.
2 tortoises, no hares
Sunday 280 to San Jose: fuck you, pig, I know my rights!
Then, Mother's Day breakfast at my folks' house, very nice, very relaxing. The weather finally picked up, and I felt like I was on vacation for a couple of hours.
Sunday afternoon, Paul got a bike for the Sheetiron. Paul likes to make fun of my DRZ. It's so gutless, it's so slow, blah blah blah. See, we have different needs for a bike. I see it as a Tortoise and Hare thing. I don't need a hare. I don't have the patience for a hare. I don't have a garage for a hare. Mostly, I hate pushing a hare off the freeway or back over ten miles of single track. A tortoise will do me just fine. And it has. The bike has 35K on it, which is a lot for that sort of bike, and no problems. Sure, it wanted its valves done at 27K, but what bike wouldn't need that from time to time?
My tortoise just does the job, and gets me there. I never have to worry about "it wasn't built for that." It's built to do a lot of things just fine. Not to do a few things really really well, and then blow up in-between unless you rebuild it first. I do not need a high-maintenance girlfriend.
So now Paul has a DRZ. We'd match, except his is yellow, and way, way cleaner. At least until Saturday. After watching the XR failure from 2 years ago at Stonyford, I'm relieved. Not that nothing can go wrong, just that the likelihood has gone down for THAT failure.
Now that it's a reality, we have a lot of prep to do.
Then, Mother's Day breakfast at my folks' house, very nice, very relaxing. The weather finally picked up, and I felt like I was on vacation for a couple of hours.
Sunday afternoon, Paul got a bike for the Sheetiron. Paul likes to make fun of my DRZ. It's so gutless, it's so slow, blah blah blah. See, we have different needs for a bike. I see it as a Tortoise and Hare thing. I don't need a hare. I don't have the patience for a hare. I don't have a garage for a hare. Mostly, I hate pushing a hare off the freeway or back over ten miles of single track. A tortoise will do me just fine. And it has. The bike has 35K on it, which is a lot for that sort of bike, and no problems. Sure, it wanted its valves done at 27K, but what bike wouldn't need that from time to time?
My tortoise just does the job, and gets me there. I never have to worry about "it wasn't built for that." It's built to do a lot of things just fine. Not to do a few things really really well, and then blow up in-between unless you rebuild it first. I do not need a high-maintenance girlfriend.
So now Paul has a DRZ. We'd match, except his is yellow, and way, way cleaner. At least until Saturday. After watching the XR failure from 2 years ago at Stonyford, I'm relieved. Not that nothing can go wrong, just that the likelihood has gone down for THAT failure.
Now that it's a reality, we have a lot of prep to do.
campmor! say it ain't so!
Boo. I was previously so enamored with campmor. They have a super cool catalog (I love the line drawings), and good prices, and lots of good info on their website.
But they fucked up my order this week, and will not make things right.
Order placed Monday morning for several items, payed extra for next day shipping.
Received the order today. Of the two important items in the order, only one arrived. The other, though accepted through the order and email confirmation process, was, according to a handwritten note on the shipping invoice, no longer available.
ugh. I am leaving Friday. I want to pack Wednesday if possible, but must pack by Thursday.
Now the website tells me that it's now available in red, not the black color I chose. So I call, and they say, OK, we'll send it out, two day service, but it will leave tomorrow. Which means, maybe, it should arrive Friday. There is a REASON I paid extra for it to be delivered early this week. I ask them to overnight it, they tell me OK, but they will have to charge me for this.
No. That doesn't make sense since I've already paid extra to have this delivered TODAY. Now you want to charge me more to have it delivered Thursday (which adds up to 3-day) I'm escalated to Customer Service, who insists on charging me and tried to convince me he's cutting me a deal. Wait, whose fault is this? THEY accepted the order, confirmed it, and never bothered to advise of a problem until I found a note in my box? I've already paid the extra. It wasn't available, he says. But your website, and my email confirmation, said it was. He said "you placed that on the website, did you talk to a person who told you it was available? It wasn't."
Ahem. So your website is useless, and that's just fine with you. What-ever. You're right, I failed to get a human signed and notarized confirmation in triplicate.
Bottom line: I'm not paying again for shipping on an order that is ALREADY late.
boo. I was so enamored. I'll think twice about ordering from campmor again, and definitely won't do it if time is important.
Good customer service? They should have called me when they picked the order, to advise of the problem when they discovered it. I could have told them to send the red one on the spot, and no one would be out any time or shipping costs. Instead they wasted time, shipping money, and customer goodwill. Feh.
But they fucked up my order this week, and will not make things right.
Order placed Monday morning for several items, payed extra for next day shipping.
Received the order today. Of the two important items in the order, only one arrived. The other, though accepted through the order and email confirmation process, was, according to a handwritten note on the shipping invoice, no longer available.
ugh. I am leaving Friday. I want to pack Wednesday if possible, but must pack by Thursday.
Now the website tells me that it's now available in red, not the black color I chose. So I call, and they say, OK, we'll send it out, two day service, but it will leave tomorrow. Which means, maybe, it should arrive Friday. There is a REASON I paid extra for it to be delivered early this week. I ask them to overnight it, they tell me OK, but they will have to charge me for this.
No. That doesn't make sense since I've already paid extra to have this delivered TODAY. Now you want to charge me more to have it delivered Thursday (which adds up to 3-day) I'm escalated to Customer Service, who insists on charging me and tried to convince me he's cutting me a deal. Wait, whose fault is this? THEY accepted the order, confirmed it, and never bothered to advise of a problem until I found a note in my box? I've already paid the extra. It wasn't available, he says. But your website, and my email confirmation, said it was. He said "you placed that on the website, did you talk to a person who told you it was available? It wasn't."
Ahem. So your website is useless, and that's just fine with you. What-ever. You're right, I failed to get a human signed and notarized confirmation in triplicate.
Bottom line: I'm not paying again for shipping on an order that is ALREADY late.
boo. I was so enamored. I'll think twice about ordering from campmor again, and definitely won't do it if time is important.
Good customer service? They should have called me when they picked the order, to advise of the problem when they discovered it. I could have told them to send the red one on the spot, and no one would be out any time or shipping costs. Instead they wasted time, shipping money, and customer goodwill. Feh.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
The sky is pink. And it is NOT falling.
cnn
Reuters
Keep your head down, don't raise a peep.
I keep getting these stupid mails and bulletins from military folks, slamming on anti-war and other protesters, saying they shouldn't be speaking out, that they're somehow unpatriotic or unamerican. Next military person that tells me they're fighting for the USA, that protesters are too cowardly to fight for, might want to re-examine what exactly they are fighting for. A country that tightly controls freedom and monitors everyday people and their telephone conversations? Not so much worth fighting for then, is it? Protesters? That is what you ought to be fighting for, the right to call out and struggle for change as needed, that is the essence of our Great Democratic Experiment. There is nothing so American as protesting.
Once we betray those ideals, we might as way lay down our weapons and admit that what we have is nothing worth protecting.
Reuters
"The privacy of ordinary Americans is fiercely protected in all our activities. We're not mining or trolling through the personal lives of millions of innocent Americans," Bush said.The president came out to defend the administration's domestic spy program after USA Today reported the National Security Agency was secretly collecting phone records of tens of millions of Americans from phone companies to analyze calling patterns in an effort to detect terrorist activity.
How the hell this president can be so bold and just out and out lie about things that are very very obviously untrue is beyond me.
"We're not mining or trolling through the personal lives of millions of innocent Americans," What? No, you're just recording all their phone activity. Ahem, that's not personal life, I guess. Not in Bush's mind? (sorry, did I use "Bush" and "mind" in the same sentence?)
"Our efforts are focused on links to al Qaeda and their known affiliates," Bush said. "The privacy of ordinary Americans is fiercely protected in all our activities."OH! OK, phew! You're only spying on BAD guys! So if I'm not bad, I have no reason to worry! Thank God! But, wait...
"domestic telephone call records from millions of Americans beginning shortly after the attacks on September 11, 2001."Millions? So, there are MILLIONS of al Queda operatives in the USA? Shocking. But I won't worry, 'cuz if I'm worried, that must mean I'm a terrorist right? Uh, not worried!
Keep your head down, don't raise a peep.
I keep getting these stupid mails and bulletins from military folks, slamming on anti-war and other protesters, saying they shouldn't be speaking out, that they're somehow unpatriotic or unamerican. Next military person that tells me they're fighting for the USA, that protesters are too cowardly to fight for, might want to re-examine what exactly they are fighting for. A country that tightly controls freedom and monitors everyday people and their telephone conversations? Not so much worth fighting for then, is it? Protesters? That is what you ought to be fighting for, the right to call out and struggle for change as needed, that is the essence of our Great Democratic Experiment. There is nothing so American as protesting.
Once we betray those ideals, we might as way lay down our weapons and admit that what we have is nothing worth protecting.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
black and blue
So Saturday night, we were headed down to San Jose, on 280, on our dirtbikes. The plan was to crash at my folks' house so the ride to Metcalf in the morning would just be 15 miles. We were going to meet Charles at 8:30 in the parking lot. Right.
Wrong. Somewhere between Magdalena and Foothill, Paul toasted his motor. I mean, he didn't do anything, it just happened. Well, anyway, fortunately I have some incredible friends.
Charles once again showed me how lucky I am to have such great friends.
And since I would only be in the way hanging around Paul's garage on Sunday while he tore down the XR, I proceeded to San Jose, and then Metcalf in the morning.
Then all the crashing and all that.
Then, this:
Who doesn't love a good bruise?
Yeah, I need to replace my elbo guards, which are AWOL.
And Paul, well, he has bigger problems. The bike is TOAST, and surely won't be back up by next weekend for the Sheetiron, if at all. So what to do... working on creative solutions now, and I'm hoping this won't just end with me crying about missing the Sheetiron again. I have faith. Hmph.
Wrong. Somewhere between Magdalena and Foothill, Paul toasted his motor. I mean, he didn't do anything, it just happened. Well, anyway, fortunately I have some incredible friends.
Charles once again showed me how lucky I am to have such great friends.
And since I would only be in the way hanging around Paul's garage on Sunday while he tore down the XR, I proceeded to San Jose, and then Metcalf in the morning.
Then all the crashing and all that.
Then, this:
Who doesn't love a good bruise?
Yeah, I need to replace my elbo guards, which are AWOL.
And Paul, well, he has bigger problems. The bike is TOAST, and surely won't be back up by next weekend for the Sheetiron, if at all. So what to do... working on creative solutions now, and I'm hoping this won't just end with me crying about missing the Sheetiron again. I have faith. Hmph.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
worthwhile
The other day I realized that I have never, in my adult life, had a positive net worth.
There have been a few articles lately on CNN and other news sites about the crippling weight of student loan debt. I have to say, it's fucking bad. Really.
What exactly is the point of discouraging kids from going to college for a better education, to a better job, to more taxes to the government and a more competitive workforce?
What indeed?
And of course Bush hacks away even more aid recently. I know that's not what he SAID, but it IS what he DID...
As debt goes, it's not a bad one. interest is tax-deductible, and the rate is low. So low, it's not worth paying off early. But still, it's there, and it's bullshit.
Same thing if you want a house: debt forever. Now I'm seeing the ARM foreclosures. And laughing. "we didn't realize what we were signing." ha!
Anyway, I guess I should be happy that I'll have a positive net worth later this year. But I'll never be debt-free. It's just not the American Way.
There have been a few articles lately on CNN and other news sites about the crippling weight of student loan debt. I have to say, it's fucking bad. Really.
What exactly is the point of discouraging kids from going to college for a better education, to a better job, to more taxes to the government and a more competitive workforce?
What indeed?
And of course Bush hacks away even more aid recently. I know that's not what he SAID, but it IS what he DID...
As debt goes, it's not a bad one. interest is tax-deductible, and the rate is low. So low, it's not worth paying off early. But still, it's there, and it's bullshit.
Same thing if you want a house: debt forever. Now I'm seeing the ARM foreclosures. And laughing. "we didn't realize what we were signing." ha!
Anyway, I guess I should be happy that I'll have a positive net worth later this year. But I'll never be debt-free. It's just not the American Way.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Vroom, whack, thunk!
"A ship in port is safe, but that's not what ships are built for."
-Grace Murray Hopper
really.
I'm just really sore.
My head is all wonky because I couldn't sleep well last night. I have a very large black bruise on my thigh.
In fact, my whole leg is sore, and in order to not let it stiffen up, I thought it would be wise to go for some walking last night, and rushing through bushes and hopping fences as well. In order to accommodate that, we had to split a pitcher of margaritas. This helped loosen up my pained muscles, and drown Paul's XR650 sorrows.
What happened before that was that I went to Metcalf to ride my bike around in the dirt a little. Just a little, I think only 2.5 to 3 hours?
It started innocently enough with a request to be dumped off at the TT track, where I figured I could just run around in circles being slow and sucky on my own. I even knew better than to take the bait at the hillclimb, which Charles totally lied about. (big as the hill he crashed on at Sheetiron, my ass!) but when we ended up at the GP track, I got bored of Charles telling me to try it followed by my own chicken-ness. Well, I can't really see all that well, but it looks too hard for me. What the hell, says I, what the hell indeed.
It's OK, I know I have to crash. I suck at this. Like, really, and it's totally terrifying, which really just makes it worse. Hesitance leads to too slow, which leads to crash. Terror leads to death grip on the bars, which means crash. Feeling out of control makes me unable to stand up, which leads to really being out of control, which leads to...
#1: uphill, bumpy, trying to tell myself to stay on the gas but feeling like it's not going to work. I feel like that a lot, and often it works out anyway. Besides, what can you do? Switch off the TV and give up? Nope, there it is, there's a 99% chance you're going to fail, but nothing to be done except hope for the 1%. I like those odds! At least you're doing it! Bumped into a grass hill, I crash somewhat lightly. Somehow, Phil is there. I don't know why, was he stopping for a picnic? By all rights he should have been flying over my head or already up at the top of the next hill? I don't know where he came from, but Phil is the best, and I learned a lot just by watching him push my bike down before trying to pick it up. Smart man, used the grass hill for half the leverage. I probably would have just thrown it over with much effort only to find it on its other side, but now in the middle of the track. Much coaching on how to get my bike out of the hill, and I was up and on my way down again. The trails were dry on Sunday, but at some point in the recent past, there was water pooled up into muddy sludge at the low points, which means peaked ruts, which is where
#2 I try to choose a path through the ruts at the low point but I choose wrong, or gas wrong, or, uh, shit, I don't know. I crashed pretty hard that time, probably poor throttle control for that condition? Whatever, I crashed, under the bike, Phil is behind me and helps me AGAIN. This time he has to tell me how to scoot down so he can untangle me from the bike. I know I hit hard, and I know I'm done for a bit. When you start crashing repeatedly, it's at least time for a break. Phil coaches me on how to take the next turn, and I try to take his advice. Much attention to throttle control and lean (or lack thereof) on that turn and up the hill. If I could have instructions on every inch of track, that would be cool. Hmph, up at the top, and I'm sitting out until everyone is ready to go back to the truck.
I feel so terrible when I'm such a pain in the ass. It's a struggle, and I really feel bad for needing the help. Particularly from people who hardly know me.
Well, you don't know until you try. Though I feel bad for the impositions, I'm glad I get to regret crashing instead of regretting sitting out the entire time. I don't even regret crashing. I just wish I could do it more.
But, I live so far from the dirt. I've always wished for a little dirtbike to practice on, something less big and heavy, and less, um, necessary for my commute. Not that someone couldn't ride my bike faster, as some guy WAS on Sunday, on exactly the same bike (though cleaner, and, oh my bike is geared for the street, which is a very weak excuse). But, for me, a girl who's terrified of everything, and never could do any sort of sport, something small, and regular practice to take the edge off, that would be nice. Why does it take me so long to move so little on the learning curve? Sports were never my forte. Sigh. Well, anyway, but I keep doing it, just not often enough. Sheetiron in two weeks, and I am pretty disheartened. Not as disheartened as Paul, I assume, but I have a different set of problems. I can't even throw money at these problems, they are all me this time.
But you do it, that thing that you're scared of. That's what makes it different.
I sort of walked away from the one thing I was ever really good at. What's the point of doing something you already know you are good at? Hmph.
Well, just ouch. I hope this heals up before I get to the Sheetiron, which is another issue.
-Grace Murray Hopper
really.
I'm just really sore.
My head is all wonky because I couldn't sleep well last night. I have a very large black bruise on my thigh.
In fact, my whole leg is sore, and in order to not let it stiffen up, I thought it would be wise to go for some walking last night, and rushing through bushes and hopping fences as well. In order to accommodate that, we had to split a pitcher of margaritas. This helped loosen up my pained muscles, and drown Paul's XR650 sorrows.
What happened before that was that I went to Metcalf to ride my bike around in the dirt a little. Just a little, I think only 2.5 to 3 hours?
It started innocently enough with a request to be dumped off at the TT track, where I figured I could just run around in circles being slow and sucky on my own. I even knew better than to take the bait at the hillclimb, which Charles totally lied about. (big as the hill he crashed on at Sheetiron, my ass!) but when we ended up at the GP track, I got bored of Charles telling me to try it followed by my own chicken-ness. Well, I can't really see all that well, but it looks too hard for me. What the hell, says I, what the hell indeed.
It's OK, I know I have to crash. I suck at this. Like, really, and it's totally terrifying, which really just makes it worse. Hesitance leads to too slow, which leads to crash. Terror leads to death grip on the bars, which means crash. Feeling out of control makes me unable to stand up, which leads to really being out of control, which leads to...
#1: uphill, bumpy, trying to tell myself to stay on the gas but feeling like it's not going to work. I feel like that a lot, and often it works out anyway. Besides, what can you do? Switch off the TV and give up? Nope, there it is, there's a 99% chance you're going to fail, but nothing to be done except hope for the 1%. I like those odds! At least you're doing it! Bumped into a grass hill, I crash somewhat lightly. Somehow, Phil is there. I don't know why, was he stopping for a picnic? By all rights he should have been flying over my head or already up at the top of the next hill? I don't know where he came from, but Phil is the best, and I learned a lot just by watching him push my bike down before trying to pick it up. Smart man, used the grass hill for half the leverage. I probably would have just thrown it over with much effort only to find it on its other side, but now in the middle of the track. Much coaching on how to get my bike out of the hill, and I was up and on my way down again. The trails were dry on Sunday, but at some point in the recent past, there was water pooled up into muddy sludge at the low points, which means peaked ruts, which is where
#2 I try to choose a path through the ruts at the low point but I choose wrong, or gas wrong, or, uh, shit, I don't know. I crashed pretty hard that time, probably poor throttle control for that condition? Whatever, I crashed, under the bike, Phil is behind me and helps me AGAIN. This time he has to tell me how to scoot down so he can untangle me from the bike. I know I hit hard, and I know I'm done for a bit. When you start crashing repeatedly, it's at least time for a break. Phil coaches me on how to take the next turn, and I try to take his advice. Much attention to throttle control and lean (or lack thereof) on that turn and up the hill. If I could have instructions on every inch of track, that would be cool. Hmph, up at the top, and I'm sitting out until everyone is ready to go back to the truck.
I feel so terrible when I'm such a pain in the ass. It's a struggle, and I really feel bad for needing the help. Particularly from people who hardly know me.
Well, you don't know until you try. Though I feel bad for the impositions, I'm glad I get to regret crashing instead of regretting sitting out the entire time. I don't even regret crashing. I just wish I could do it more.
But, I live so far from the dirt. I've always wished for a little dirtbike to practice on, something less big and heavy, and less, um, necessary for my commute. Not that someone couldn't ride my bike faster, as some guy WAS on Sunday, on exactly the same bike (though cleaner, and, oh my bike is geared for the street, which is a very weak excuse). But, for me, a girl who's terrified of everything, and never could do any sort of sport, something small, and regular practice to take the edge off, that would be nice. Why does it take me so long to move so little on the learning curve? Sports were never my forte. Sigh. Well, anyway, but I keep doing it, just not often enough. Sheetiron in two weeks, and I am pretty disheartened. Not as disheartened as Paul, I assume, but I have a different set of problems. I can't even throw money at these problems, they are all me this time.
But you do it, that thing that you're scared of. That's what makes it different.
I sort of walked away from the one thing I was ever really good at. What's the point of doing something you already know you are good at? Hmph.
Well, just ouch. I hope this heals up before I get to the Sheetiron, which is another issue.
what I was thinking just now.
Old ladies adore my boyfriend. I think that's great, since I plan to be an old lady one day, and I can't wait to see him through the eyes of an adoring old lady.
That's planning ahead.
That's planning ahead.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
This past Saturday, Paul and I got up early-ish and scurried down to Market Street to catch the Earthquake Cottage on its last display day. The shack itself wasn't much to look at, but the photos and info were interesting, and the fact that you could see the old wood in most of it, stories and all. These shacks were built as a part of a permanent answer to an immediate emergency need. These shacks provided previous slum dwellers who'd lost everything with a permanent structure and the option to take their house out into the "country" (sunset district! See, it IS the suburbs!) and make a new life. What do we have for Katrina refugees? A couple bucks for a hotel, and then out on the street see-ya-later!
Some of these shacks have been cobbled into homes that are still lived in today.
Then.
My folks came to the city and picked us up and we all went to meet Paul's mom at the de Young Museum to see the Arts and Crafts exhibit. It was very cool. Everyone should go. Arts and crafts: very cool. Tower view, very cool. Getting stalked by the old Filipino security guard who kept telling me and the people around that I looked like the Mona Lisa? Not quite "cool," but it made for laughs later.
I worked Saturday night for New Wave city again. 550 Barneveld is a great space, but it's way too far from the rest of the city. It seemed slow. I got some reading done.
Sunday we went back to Berkeley and worked on getting the dirtbikes back into dirtbike trim. Paul had finished the SV tune-up (it idles so much smoother now) and installed the high-low horns Charles bought for my EX500 years ago. These are COOL. Loud. Fuck you mister cellphone driver!
Monday Paul did his part in the ongoing battle against highway litter and picked up a nail on his commute. Charles heroically arrived to save the day and feed him Mexican food. Or something. I don't know, but my boyfriend looks pretty hot in his fancy work outfit with a tiny jack under his Yamabego. All is well now, new tire has been installed.
So the XR can go back to dirtbike.
so we can *finally* go dirt riding this weekend.
*finally*
tonight?
Indian food... mmmmmm.... Priya
Some of these shacks have been cobbled into homes that are still lived in today.
Then.
My folks came to the city and picked us up and we all went to meet Paul's mom at the de Young Museum to see the Arts and Crafts exhibit. It was very cool. Everyone should go. Arts and crafts: very cool. Tower view, very cool. Getting stalked by the old Filipino security guard who kept telling me and the people around that I looked like the Mona Lisa? Not quite "cool," but it made for laughs later.
I worked Saturday night for New Wave city again. 550 Barneveld is a great space, but it's way too far from the rest of the city. It seemed slow. I got some reading done.
Sunday we went back to Berkeley and worked on getting the dirtbikes back into dirtbike trim. Paul had finished the SV tune-up (it idles so much smoother now) and installed the high-low horns Charles bought for my EX500 years ago. These are COOL. Loud. Fuck you mister cellphone driver!
Monday Paul did his part in the ongoing battle against highway litter and picked up a nail on his commute. Charles heroically arrived to save the day and feed him Mexican food. Or something. I don't know, but my boyfriend looks pretty hot in his fancy work outfit with a tiny jack under his Yamabego. All is well now, new tire has been installed.
So the XR can go back to dirtbike.
so we can *finally* go dirt riding this weekend.
*finally*
tonight?
Indian food... mmmmmm.... Priya
Friday, April 28, 2006
word for the day
I just learned a new work that makes me giggle:
pergraniteel
pergraniteel :: your crappy overpriced loft
as
carbon fiber :: your crappy squid bike
pergraniteel
pergraniteel :: your crappy overpriced loft
as
carbon fiber :: your crappy squid bike
Thursday, April 27, 2006
I'm About to Loose My Mind.
Today, Paul tells me this:
"If the only thing wrong with your job is that your boss doesn't understand evolution, you really should consider what the vast majority of humanity has to put up with on a daily basis."
Really?
Really?
I just can't imagine there are many more people like this.
Look, I'm very tolerant of religions. Sometimes I feel like I'm overly defensive even of Christianity.
But I can't tolerate this crap. Evolution is not an equal option to creationism. I don't have to give your religion equal time in science class, as though it were an equally valid part of a scientific debate. It's not science, and there is no debate.
I'm tired of people being proud of stupidity.
I'm tired of people misspelling things over an over until the misspelling becomes just fine.
It's not fine to misspell "lose" as "loose." IT'S NOT FINE.
And I keep seeing it. And I think you are an idiot, but I haven't told you yet. Maybe I ought to, lest "loose" becomes an accepted alternative to "lose."
But there's no debate. "loose" is not an equally valid way to say "lose." There is no debate. There's just you, looking like an idiot.
I'm tired of people thinking they will get rich from the lottery or Vegas. Every time someone tells you they went to Vegas and made X amount of money, ask them how much they lost. They NEVER factor that in. You only "go to Vegas and make money" if you come out AHEAD of your investment. Duh!
I'm tired of people thinking they can flip houses and make $200K for doing nothing. It's real satisfying watching people panic and end up underwater right now. Did you think you were entitled to a few hundred thousand just because? Oh, you didn't understand your ARM would adjust? It's got "ADJUST" right there at the beginning of the name, dumbass! This reminds me of my dot-com bubble friends who were making 6 digits for a few years in their 20's. Lucky them! But a year later when it blew up, there they all were getting evicted and starving. What, no savings? Nothing to show from the good old days? Tsk, tsk!
I'm tired of people telling me they're mad about gas prices and they demand that there be some half-assed, idiot-planned boycott a certain station on a certain day or whatever. Why do I keep getting these chain letters? It's NOT GOING TO WORK, and furthermore, it shouldn't. Shifting your gas purchase by a day or two doesn't do a goddamn thing to the oil company's profits, it just reinforces the idea that you are an idiot unable or unwilling to make actual change in your life in order to make things different. It shouldn't work, because you don't "deserve" low gas prices. Oil is finite. (sorry, it's true, "intelligent designers." Dinosaurs did roam the earth, a long time before us, and they are GONE) People suffer because Americans feel entitled to lower gas prices for WHAT?
Wanna stick it to the man? Thumb your nose at gas prices? Walk, ride your bicycle, take transit, at the very least get a more reasonable vehicle, CONSUME LESS. Of everything.
Walk outside and meet your neighbors and notice the buildings, sit at home and read a little, learn about actual investing, practice your spelling, something!
And get the hell off my lawn.
"If the only thing wrong with your job is that your boss doesn't understand evolution, you really should consider what the vast majority of humanity has to put up with on a daily basis."
Really?
Really?
I just can't imagine there are many more people like this.
Look, I'm very tolerant of religions. Sometimes I feel like I'm overly defensive even of Christianity.
But I can't tolerate this crap. Evolution is not an equal option to creationism. I don't have to give your religion equal time in science class, as though it were an equally valid part of a scientific debate. It's not science, and there is no debate.
I'm tired of people being proud of stupidity.
I'm tired of people misspelling things over an over until the misspelling becomes just fine.
It's not fine to misspell "lose" as "loose." IT'S NOT FINE.
And I keep seeing it. And I think you are an idiot, but I haven't told you yet. Maybe I ought to, lest "loose" becomes an accepted alternative to "lose."
But there's no debate. "loose" is not an equally valid way to say "lose." There is no debate. There's just you, looking like an idiot.
I'm tired of people thinking they will get rich from the lottery or Vegas. Every time someone tells you they went to Vegas and made X amount of money, ask them how much they lost. They NEVER factor that in. You only "go to Vegas and make money" if you come out AHEAD of your investment. Duh!
I'm tired of people thinking they can flip houses and make $200K for doing nothing. It's real satisfying watching people panic and end up underwater right now. Did you think you were entitled to a few hundred thousand just because? Oh, you didn't understand your ARM would adjust? It's got "ADJUST" right there at the beginning of the name, dumbass! This reminds me of my dot-com bubble friends who were making 6 digits for a few years in their 20's. Lucky them! But a year later when it blew up, there they all were getting evicted and starving. What, no savings? Nothing to show from the good old days? Tsk, tsk!
I'm tired of people telling me they're mad about gas prices and they demand that there be some half-assed, idiot-planned boycott a certain station on a certain day or whatever. Why do I keep getting these chain letters? It's NOT GOING TO WORK, and furthermore, it shouldn't. Shifting your gas purchase by a day or two doesn't do a goddamn thing to the oil company's profits, it just reinforces the idea that you are an idiot unable or unwilling to make actual change in your life in order to make things different. It shouldn't work, because you don't "deserve" low gas prices. Oil is finite. (sorry, it's true, "intelligent designers." Dinosaurs did roam the earth, a long time before us, and they are GONE) People suffer because Americans feel entitled to lower gas prices for WHAT?
Wanna stick it to the man? Thumb your nose at gas prices? Walk, ride your bicycle, take transit, at the very least get a more reasonable vehicle, CONSUME LESS. Of everything.
Walk outside and meet your neighbors and notice the buildings, sit at home and read a little, learn about actual investing, practice your spelling, something!
And get the hell off my lawn.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
tweet tweet
As of last Thursday, some asshole in my building (or possibly the next door building facing the courtyard) has gotten a BIRD.
I will never understand people who keep birds for pets. They aren't particularly affectionate or compelling, and they are FUCKING NOISY. Birds are social animals; that is why they sing and twitter. So how cruel is it to not only cage a FLYING animal, but then to keep it alone?
It makes no sense to me.
And, to have one in a crowded downtown apartment building? Well, if I knew who it was, I'd go poop on their door.
The singing is somewhat charming in the afternoon, at least, it was the first time I heard it. BUT. The bird wakes up at 6am every morning.
Paul did not believe me. He keeps telling me it is a starling or something, taking up residence in the courtyard. I have lived in that apartment for eleven years. There are NO starlings in my neighborhood. No tweet-tweet, pippity-pip birds. Just a lot of pigeons (which I don't mind, toxic shit or no). Pigeon noises are sort of creepy and occasionally dirty-sounding, but ultimately low and unobtrusive.
Someone needs to die. And it's not the bird, it's the jackass keeping the damn thing in a downtown San Francisco studio apartment.
I will never understand people who keep birds for pets. They aren't particularly affectionate or compelling, and they are FUCKING NOISY. Birds are social animals; that is why they sing and twitter. So how cruel is it to not only cage a FLYING animal, but then to keep it alone?
It makes no sense to me.
And, to have one in a crowded downtown apartment building? Well, if I knew who it was, I'd go poop on their door.
The singing is somewhat charming in the afternoon, at least, it was the first time I heard it. BUT. The bird wakes up at 6am every morning.
Paul did not believe me. He keeps telling me it is a starling or something, taking up residence in the courtyard. I have lived in that apartment for eleven years. There are NO starlings in my neighborhood. No tweet-tweet, pippity-pip birds. Just a lot of pigeons (which I don't mind, toxic shit or no). Pigeon noises are sort of creepy and occasionally dirty-sounding, but ultimately low and unobtrusive.
Someone needs to die. And it's not the bird, it's the jackass keeping the damn thing in a downtown San Francisco studio apartment.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
netflix
I was thinking of signing up for netflix. I'm trying to learn Mandarin and like watching movies in Mandarin so I can get excited when I pick out every fifteenth word. Paul de-activated my queue on his account because I guess he got tired of the crappy Chinese movies I was having sent over.
So. Today I saw some ad for netflix as low as $5.99, wanted to see what was up. Typed in netflix.com and it said "plans starting at 5.99" on the front page. Then I signed in to see what was in my queue. Since it wouldn't let me see pricing while I was signed in, I signed out again and returned to the front page. Now it said "plans starting at $9.99." WTF?
Cleared out my cookies. Barred netflix from setting cookies. Now it wouldn't even let me see the front page or any other info, just some bullshit about how I needed to allow netflix to set cookies so I could rent movies and have a queue. OH, did they fail to mention they also wanted to set cookies so they could have different price options for different people?
After clearing cookies and allowing them again, I now got "plans starting at $4.99" So now I've seen three different numbers.
Looked another time, and got "plans starting at $7.99." Different plan AGAIN.
Oddly, they actually show different plans to different people:
This is after I signed out, and have a cookie on my computer that tells them I've already been sucked in, and have a queue. So they'll try to get $9.99:
This is with no netflix cookies on my computer, so they'll try to lure me in with low pricing $4.99 ought to do it?:
This is somewhere in between, at $7.99. I didn't capture the $5.99, but whatever:
They're each different plans offered to people based on what cookies are set on your computer. Hey, fuck you very much netflix. Why not just show all the plans together, instead of lying about what they lowest priced-plan is? Honesty goes a long way.
I am looking at the Greencine thing. Anyone tried them? They have some movies netflix didn't have too.
So. Today I saw some ad for netflix as low as $5.99, wanted to see what was up. Typed in netflix.com and it said "plans starting at 5.99" on the front page. Then I signed in to see what was in my queue. Since it wouldn't let me see pricing while I was signed in, I signed out again and returned to the front page. Now it said "plans starting at $9.99." WTF?
Cleared out my cookies. Barred netflix from setting cookies. Now it wouldn't even let me see the front page or any other info, just some bullshit about how I needed to allow netflix to set cookies so I could rent movies and have a queue. OH, did they fail to mention they also wanted to set cookies so they could have different price options for different people?
After clearing cookies and allowing them again, I now got "plans starting at $4.99" So now I've seen three different numbers.
Looked another time, and got "plans starting at $7.99." Different plan AGAIN.
Oddly, they actually show different plans to different people:
This is after I signed out, and have a cookie on my computer that tells them I've already been sucked in, and have a queue. So they'll try to get $9.99:
This is with no netflix cookies on my computer, so they'll try to lure me in with low pricing $4.99 ought to do it?:
This is somewhere in between, at $7.99. I didn't capture the $5.99, but whatever:
They're each different plans offered to people based on what cookies are set on your computer. Hey, fuck you very much netflix. Why not just show all the plans together, instead of lying about what they lowest priced-plan is? Honesty goes a long way.
I am looking at the Greencine thing. Anyone tried them? They have some movies netflix didn't have too.
Monday, April 17, 2006
weekend
Friday: realized I know someone who doesn't believe in evolution.
Saturday: had pizza delivered to SFMC again, at James' party to raise money for his Isle of Man racing efforts.
Sunday EARLY: Mt. Tam. We were there, where the hell were you?
Sunday 2: Considered the irony of nearly getting killed by some dipshit with an "Abortion: One Dead, One Wounded" bumper sticker. Actually, had we not seen him swerving across two lanes of traffic then grabbing his brakes, it would have been two dead. But I don't count on these dumbasses to have solid math skills.
Sunday gets two parts because we woke up at 3am to do the Easter Morning Ride. Wherein motorcyclists of all ilk gather to ride to the top of Mt. Tam to watch the sunrise every Easter. This year was rain and THICK fog, and so the usual 2-300 bikes was cut down to about 50 or so. Pussies!
Then we went to Berkeley and napped, woke up for Sunday 2, and rode to San JOse to have dinner with my family. It was great.
Rich folks who lecture about being christian and doing the sunday bible study routine and then tell me about how great their rich buddy's tax-shelter abuse scam is, fuck off. What WOULD Jesus do? Um, not that, I'm thinking.
Wet crotch is the new black. At least, that's what the folks at Aerostich seem to think. Feh.
Saturday: had pizza delivered to SFMC again, at James' party to raise money for his Isle of Man racing efforts.
Sunday EARLY: Mt. Tam. We were there, where the hell were you?
Sunday 2: Considered the irony of nearly getting killed by some dipshit with an "Abortion: One Dead, One Wounded" bumper sticker. Actually, had we not seen him swerving across two lanes of traffic then grabbing his brakes, it would have been two dead. But I don't count on these dumbasses to have solid math skills.
Sunday gets two parts because we woke up at 3am to do the Easter Morning Ride. Wherein motorcyclists of all ilk gather to ride to the top of Mt. Tam to watch the sunrise every Easter. This year was rain and THICK fog, and so the usual 2-300 bikes was cut down to about 50 or so. Pussies!
Then we went to Berkeley and napped, woke up for Sunday 2, and rode to San JOse to have dinner with my family. It was great.
Rich folks who lecture about being christian and doing the sunday bible study routine and then tell me about how great their rich buddy's tax-shelter abuse scam is, fuck off. What WOULD Jesus do? Um, not that, I'm thinking.
Wet crotch is the new black. At least, that's what the folks at Aerostich seem to think. Feh.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
enough!
ugh. so my sewing machine doesn't really work. I had been trying to just deal with it and work around it, but it is shit, and doesn't really come out right, and is very frustrating.
I need to get it fixed.
Yes, I know I have 4 sewing machines. But I want to use *this* one.
I need to get it fixed.
Yes, I know I have 4 sewing machines. But I want to use *this* one.
Friday, April 07, 2006
the coolest person I know
I went and saw Mames last night. He showed me his ID card for the Isle of Man TT Mountain Course, which, officially, makes James the COOLEST person I know.
Isle of Man racing is expensive, give him some support!
Coincidentally, Paul and I will be at Isle of Man. I get to go see James race at arguably the most beloved motorcycle race in the world! On a tiny island with people who talk funny. woot!
I am thinking of moving this "blog" thingy. I like some of the functions of LiveJournal; namely, being able to keep some posts public, other posts just for friends to see. There are a lot of things I just can't journal about publicly. (like, uh, my job, specifically) So, any thoughts about Livejournal vs. Blogger? I'm not so much "blogging" as I am "journaling" anyway, right?
But I hate to keep moving around, and most folks aren't livejournal users, so they wouldn't have access to my friends-only postings without ANOTHER goddam thing to sign up on this stupid interweb thingy. ugh. stupid internet!
Also, I suspect the hillclimb will be cancelled this weekend, rain and all. feh.
And, no, I'm not going to the fight party. I will be getting money to listen to 80's music.
Isle of Man racing is expensive, give him some support!
Coincidentally, Paul and I will be at Isle of Man. I get to go see James race at arguably the most beloved motorcycle race in the world! On a tiny island with people who talk funny. woot!
I am thinking of moving this "blog" thingy. I like some of the functions of LiveJournal; namely, being able to keep some posts public, other posts just for friends to see. There are a lot of things I just can't journal about publicly. (like, uh, my job, specifically) So, any thoughts about Livejournal vs. Blogger? I'm not so much "blogging" as I am "journaling" anyway, right?
But I hate to keep moving around, and most folks aren't livejournal users, so they wouldn't have access to my friends-only postings without ANOTHER goddam thing to sign up on this stupid interweb thingy. ugh. stupid internet!
Also, I suspect the hillclimb will be cancelled this weekend, rain and all. feh.
And, no, I'm not going to the fight party. I will be getting money to listen to 80's music.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Subzero
and really what I need is to figure out what the path is.
what steps to take to change careers or put this one on track. I can't afford to live in the Bay Area, which is where I want to be. I see places I want to park my bike and furniture, but I don't see how on earth I could get them.
it all seems very frozen right now. Patience comes and goes, ebb and...
today I want it all, tomorrow I'm willing to let it all go for just a little something, anything. The next day I am inflexible again. Then it seems possible, but upon another look, not at all. It's all water on the horizon of a vast desert. Or a mirage, or maybe just little piece of broken glass left from a different time.
Now it's just for investors and flippers, people who were given a little more, people who made better choices earlier, people who don't have bikes to wrench on. I'm at once above you and beneath you; spiteful, self-righteous, and deeply envious.
And it's all I want.
In this job that, just one generation ago, would have been a fine job to build a life on. A job that now means I'll always be poor, never able to put down roots in the place I belong.
Fuck you very much luxury people. I hope your 24 hour concierge sneaks in in the middle of the night and steals your precious granite countertop. Maybe one day I'll be ducking through an alley and find you clutching your stainless steel faucet, all that's left from the recessed-lighting-induced fire that burnt your condo-hive to the ground.
We'll always have our stainless steel.
what steps to take to change careers or put this one on track. I can't afford to live in the Bay Area, which is where I want to be. I see places I want to park my bike and furniture, but I don't see how on earth I could get them.
it all seems very frozen right now. Patience comes and goes, ebb and...
today I want it all, tomorrow I'm willing to let it all go for just a little something, anything. The next day I am inflexible again. Then it seems possible, but upon another look, not at all. It's all water on the horizon of a vast desert. Or a mirage, or maybe just little piece of broken glass left from a different time.
Now it's just for investors and flippers, people who were given a little more, people who made better choices earlier, people who don't have bikes to wrench on. I'm at once above you and beneath you; spiteful, self-righteous, and deeply envious.
And it's all I want.
In this job that, just one generation ago, would have been a fine job to build a life on. A job that now means I'll always be poor, never able to put down roots in the place I belong.
Fuck you very much luxury people. I hope your 24 hour concierge sneaks in in the middle of the night and steals your precious granite countertop. Maybe one day I'll be ducking through an alley and find you clutching your stainless steel faucet, all that's left from the recessed-lighting-induced fire that burnt your condo-hive to the ground.
We'll always have our stainless steel.
Jenner
My family converged on Jenner for a family weekend Friday night. What this boiled down to was a lot of chocolate and a lot of drinking.
This year, we decided there wasn't anything my parents wanted or needed for Christmas. Except, the one thing they really want-- family time. With my brother and his wife in Seattle, they wish mostly for family time, so that's what we got them. Ben and Megan flew in Friday, picked us up in their rental car, and drove us out (the long way, since roads were flooded and we didn't trust the crappy American boat car to take it) to meet my parents and sister who were already at the rental house in Jenner. And then we had port, chocolate, wine, more chocolate, and I think a little beer too. It was grand. We even got to go to the beach Saturday when the sun was more or less out. When was the last time you got to walk down the beach with your folks, picking up shiny rocks and climbing on old rusted tractors?
It rained most of the rest of the weekend, so we cooked and played games and ate and talked a lot of shit.
Sunday I napped (drinking in the morning will do that to you) and then Paul and I hiked around Berkeley in the rain. In the evening, a noisy possum visited the porch a few times. He kept knocking of the recycling bottles outside, so we finally had to take the port bottle in, which solved the problem. Possums love port!
This year, we decided there wasn't anything my parents wanted or needed for Christmas. Except, the one thing they really want-- family time. With my brother and his wife in Seattle, they wish mostly for family time, so that's what we got them. Ben and Megan flew in Friday, picked us up in their rental car, and drove us out (the long way, since roads were flooded and we didn't trust the crappy American boat car to take it) to meet my parents and sister who were already at the rental house in Jenner. And then we had port, chocolate, wine, more chocolate, and I think a little beer too. It was grand. We even got to go to the beach Saturday when the sun was more or less out. When was the last time you got to walk down the beach with your folks, picking up shiny rocks and climbing on old rusted tractors?
It rained most of the rest of the weekend, so we cooked and played games and ate and talked a lot of shit.
Sunday I napped (drinking in the morning will do that to you) and then Paul and I hiked around Berkeley in the rain. In the evening, a noisy possum visited the porch a few times. He kept knocking of the recycling bottles outside, so we finally had to take the port bottle in, which solved the problem. Possums love port!
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Today's Not-Really-Guilty Pleasure
omigod, so funny:
America's Overvalued Real Estate
...except I happen to LIKE houses that are dwarfed by their garages. Other than that, right on.
America's Overvalued Real Estate
...except I happen to LIKE houses that are dwarfed by their garages. Other than that, right on.
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